


van hale(n)

by versipelle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Ambiguous Relationships, Arguing, Classic Rock, Cora Is A Flirt, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Glam Rock, Kissing, M/M, Matt Daehler is a Douche, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Mixtape, Multi, Nicknames, Oblivious Stiles, Pyjamas, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott/Stiles Ambiguous Friendship, Stiles Gets The Wrong Idea, The Hale Fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versipelle/pseuds/versipelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles works in a record store and only ever gets one customer during his Tuesday shift. He hatches a plan to discover what's going on with the mysterious guy who comes in each week, looks through the same racks then leaves without a word...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. February

## Tuesday 8th February

Stiles watches the second hand push its way upwards for half a minute before it reaches the top, and then sits back and waits. For the past two weeks his afternoon shift has been spoiled by a guy coming in around this time, ruining his valuable alone time with his tablet playing a hundred different games and Stiles decides to see how much like clockwork this guy is because he’s almost sure it had been 3pm on the dot both times.

Only three seconds pass before the bell above the door rings, and sure enough it’s the same guy. The past fortnight, he’s just sat there and watched as the guy slowly makes his way round the store, stopping at the same specific points each week, and indeed it takes him most of the guy’s visit to work up the courage to even speak. He’s disarmingly handsome even with such constantly furrowed brows, and Stiles might have grown out of his teenage awkwardness but not enough to casually stroll up to him and make conversation.

Before he realises what’s happening, the guy turns to leave, and words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them.

“Looking for something in particular?”

The man turns slowly, brows creased in so much they resemble two black caterpillars trying to burrow under his skin, and even so he still manages to look beautiful despite that image lodging in Stiles’s head. It feels like they might pupate and turn into beautiful butterfly eyebrows before this guy ever gets round to replying, but eventually a single word pops out from between thinly drawn together lips.

“No.”

“It’s just,” Stiles begins but he is shut down by the sound of the bell, and just like that the guy is gone and the store is silent again. It rankles him without him knowing why. “...you check the same places every week,” he finishes lamely, feeling as though the words might echo around the silence of the store.

It’s then that he decides what he will do with the last hour of his shift. He replays the guy’s movements in his head over and over until he’s ninety percent sure he knows where he stops. Just to be sure, he traces the footsteps from the entrance all the way to the first stopping point.

“This cannot be it,” he says when he arrives there. He walks back to the door, confused and thinking that maybe he hadn’t paid that much attention after all. But he is Stiles Stilinski, well known for being far too smart and noticing far too much crap that he shouldn’t, and he’d damn well wanted to stare at the guy the whole time he was here so he can’t have gotten it wrong. He tries again, closing his eyes as much as he dares because a whole shelf knocked over would be hard to explain, but still ends up in the same place.

“Bon Jovi?” he says incredulously. No, it must be Bon Iver, or maybe Bowie. At a push, he could see the guy liking Bowie. But this whole row was 95% Jovi and he couldn’t have spent any length of time looking through the random crap that was stuffed in the end. He tries the second place he remembers him stopping.

Wham!, Whiskeytown, The White Stripes... “Whitesnake,” he says aloud.

He decides he likes the idea of this guy being in love with The White Stripes and Bowie more than anything, and desperately wants it to be true in part because he does not want to think about boning someone who has fallen into the 80’s, and because this guy deserves so much better.

At the third spot, he becomes resigned to the fact that The Ramones and Rancid can’t be as interesting as Rainbow are to the guy rapidly falling in his estimations. He looks at the clock, and sees there are only twenty minutes of his shift left. He’s furious that he’ll have to wait a whole week to discover if he’s stumbled upon the guy’s terrible secret. I mean, even his dad turns that stuff off in the car if it comes on, and he likes some horrible things.

But he does have a plan to check. He wants to be sure.

## Tuesday 15th February

He’s beginning to think that he’s made the whole time-stickler thing up when the guy walks in, four minutes after three. He seems distracted and Stiles wonders if he’s running late or something, because he speeds around the store a lot faster than he normally does. He almost laughs, because he’s acting like he knows all about this guy and he doesn’t even know his name, never mind what could be going on in his mind, if anything at all. He doesn’t seem much of a talker, that’s for sure.

On the third try, his plan works. He almost shouts with glee, before he realises that it would look majorly weird and this guy probably already hates him for daring to even talk to him last week. But Rolex Guy (so called because he keeps precise time, not because he wears one or anything sensible like that) actually has vinyl in his hand, which means Stiles has fucking won, okay.

Before he left last week, he ordered in some rare singles by the three artists he checked last week, plus Van Halen and Aerosmith on the off chance. Turns out Van Halen was a good spot, because that’s what Rolex Guy is holding right now. He picks up one of the Rainbow ones too, but ends up putting it back. Still, it’s a start.

“This is new,” Rolex Guy says, from right in front of him. He jumps and knocks the card reader on the floor, because he’d been so busy just watching the guy he hadn’t even noticed him walking right towards the counter. Smooth.

“I think you’ll find it’s actually quite old,” Stiles hears himself say. What an obnoxious asshole I can be, he thinks, even as his subconscious is grinning madly. Rolex Guy stares him down until he almost whimpers an apology just to make him stop. “Sorry. You have a loyalty card?”

“No,” the guy replies. “I’ve never bought anything before.”

“You’re in here every week,” Stiles says, internally screaming at his brain to stop making his mouth move before he can process what he’s saying. “You’re like the only customer on a Tuesday, easy to remember,” he stammers out, trying to save himself. He doesn’t think it works.

“It’s usually the same old things,” the guy says, making Stiles wonder why he keeps coming back. “Loyalty card?” he says, flashing his eyebrows up and pursing his lips in a gesture that clearly reads as ‘shut up and get on with it’. So polite.

“Sure thing, just need your name, address, that kinda thing.”

“Derek,” the guy replies, except now he isn’t the guy, he’s Derek. The name makes him real somehow, makes Stiles remember that this g -- that Derek doesn’t just literally walk in the shop, look round and walk out, and then vanish out of existence for a whole week, although considering how on schedule he usually is, it wouldn’t have surprised him.

He zones back in, and Derek is looking at him again. Shit.

“Last name?” he says as if he were just waiting for it, instead of saving himself.

“Hale,” Derek says, and Stiles could swear he almost flinches as he says it aloud, as if he’s supposed to know it, as if it’s something to be ashamed of. He doesn’t though, and so he just writes it down without any further suggestion. That’s when he sees it.

“Derek Hale, buying Van Halen. Wow. Do you only collect records with your name on?” he laughs, because now he can totally picture Derek being a totally arrogant jackass who knows he looks amazing and is surly purely to be intimidating. Derek cuts him down from that train of thought pretty quickly.

“No.” Not even a hint of a smile. Christ.

He jots down the address and contact number without another word, and Derek walks out after paying without even saying thank you or goodbye. Maybe he was half right with that theory then, the guy is moody as fuck. He looks at the clock, half an hour left of his shift. At least he knows what to do now. He goes on the system, and orders in as many Van Halen vinyls as he can find that they don’t already stock, then spends the rest of his shift Googling glam rock bands so that by next week, he’ll have something to discuss, to ask about, instead of popping his mouth open like a koi carp and staring.

“Why does such a cool looking guy have to be so uncool?” he mutters to himself, and lets out a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to what you'd expect, this whole thing didn't begin with the Van Halen pun, it was something I figured out later.
> 
> More characters will pop up soon!


	2. March, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek leaves quickly, and through the window Stiles can see his shoulders sag as he walks away, as though he’d been holding his composure while in there. He’s intrigued, and also a little sad, because between the smirk and the almost-conversation, he thinks Derek might actually be okay after all, not an asshole, just someone with something weighing them down.
> 
> Stiles knows what that’s like, and he decides that somehow, he’s going to get to the bottom of this.

## Tuesday 01st March

Derek didn’t show last week. Stiles had spent the last hour of his shift in an ever increasing state of panic, convinced that he’d scared the guy off with his chatter. He’d even ordered some more obscure stuff - Hanoi Rocks, Tigertailz - European stuff he wasn’t sure got released over here, as if that would somehow magically bring him back into the store the following week.

It worked, though. Three o’clock chimed in by the bell above the door clattering, knocked askew by an angry guy who’d bought The Cure’s Disintegration and found the vinyl scratched to fuck when he’d got home. Even that guy hadn’t managed to be as intimidating as Derek Hale always seemed to be.

Derek walks round in silence as always, and Stiles is internally screaming because he’s taking forever to get to V, and that’s where the good stuff is. To his surprise, Derek picks up the Hanoi Rocks album, which he takes as a minor victory. He knows when Derek finally gets to the Van Halen because his eyebrows raise visibly, even from a side-on view. Stiles looks away quickly when Derek looks over to him.

Five minutes later, Derek strides over to the counter, places two records down on it.

To Stiles’s surprise, neither of them is the artist he’d spent so much time getting stocked up on.

“Hanoi Rocks, Vain,” he reads aloud before realising he’s done it. A little flush creeps into his neck and he hopes Derek doesn’t notice, but when he looks up he has such a stony-eyed glare he really can’t be sure.

“You’re slacking, dude,” Stiles says. “Hanoi Rocks only has half your name in, and well okay, Vain I get.”

Not even a smirk. Damn.

“Loyalty card?”

Derek hands it over silently, and this is getting frustrating now.

“15% up to five purchases, 25% above,” he says, determined to get something out of him. Still nothing.

“Missed you last week,” he says before he thinks about how that sounds, then flusters and tries to correct himself. “I mean, I missed seeing you - I didn’t see you last week, it was unusual,” he finishes lamely, and of course now Derek smirks.

“I went away,” Derek replies, and Stiles almost raises his hands in silent praise to the Lord. “Now I’m back.”

“I noticed.”

An awkward silence threatens but Stiles powers through it, intent on persevering with this conversation.

“So these bands, they’re pretty obscure,” he says. “You must be quite the aficionado.”

“Not really. I only know one song from each, I only vaguely remember --”

Derek clamps his mouth shut, leaving Stiles confused. He tries in vain to resurrect the discussion, but Derek’s gone back to being sullen and uncommunicative. He almost sighs out loud, but stops himself. Something’s obviously happened that he doesn’t realise, and maybe it’s best to just try again next week.

Derek leaves quickly, and through the window Stiles can see his shoulders sag as he walks away, as though he’d been holding his composure while in there. He’s intrigued, and also a little sad, because between the smirk and the almost-conversation, he thinks Derek might actually be okay after all, not an asshole, just someone with something weighing them down.

Stiles knows what that’s like, and he decides that somehow, he’s going to get to the bottom of this.

When he gets home, he downloads the two albums but then doesn’t know how to proceed. He doesn’t know which songs Derek knows, doesn’t even really know why he’s so interested to find out. It’s getting a little bit past just thinking the guy is hot, and that’s bad. But it’s too late to stop.

## Tuesday 08th March

It’s twenty past the hour when Derek finally strolls through the door, and all traces of the previous weeks awkwardness seem to have worn off. He even give Stiles a small smile when their eyes meet, before flicking through random rows haphazardly, none of his usual routine.

Stiles was well and truly freaked out. He was just wondering how he’d explain to his dad that there was bodysnatching going on in Beacon Hills when Derek stopped at one of the rows, pulling out what, to Stiles’s knowledge, was the Tigertailz vinyl he’d obviously not seen last week because it wasn’t on his usual route.

Someone needs to sit me down and tell me all the ways in which knowing someone’s route around the store is wrong, he thinks, but before anyone can show up and do that Derek’s up at the counter, a smile on his face again.

“Hey,” he says, which is enough to shock Stiles into having no idea how to respond for a good five seconds.

“Hi,” he spits out at last, turning over the vinyl Derek’s handed him. “You know, I thought whoever dreamt up my first name was bad at spelling, but somehow putting a Z on the end of this seems worse.”

“The hazards of the eighties,” Derek offers, nodding in agreement.

“Glad I’m too young to know,” Stiles replies, and Derek laughs at that.

“I hope you don’t think I’m old enough to remember,” he says, and Stiles is nearly sure he’s being flirted with.

He goes with it, flicks his eyes up and down, glad of a chance to do so openly without fear of repercussion. “It could go either way, to be honest,” he says, and grins, praying he’s got this guys sense of humour down because that reply could also go either way.

Derek cracks a smile though, and it’s all good. He pays, and before he has chance to walk away Stiles needs to ask. “Did you find those two songs?” he says. “You know, from last week.”

“Yeah,” he replies, looking less in a good mood suddenly. “Why do you ask?”

Stiles has no good answer to that, so he stands for a minute, desperately trying to think. “Just wondering,” he eventually says lamely, but Derek seems pleased that he’s interested. Delighted in fact.

“I can write them down for you, if you want?”

He has to work to pretend he’s not massively interested, just merely curious. It probably failed miserably, but Derek seemed too happy to notice. The abrupt change in mood was still concerning, but Stiles could definitely work with it if this is what happened. He looked at the piece of paper, two song titles written down in neat, jagged handwriting. He recognised both tracks, and was eager to play them once he got home.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No problem,” Derek replies, “erm... I don’t think I caught your name.”

Stiles wants to point out that it’s because he’s never actually asked, but it seems prudent not to disclose that right now. “Stiles,” he says, “it’s a nickname.” Derek cocks an eyebrow and it sends him a little mad. “I think I’d rather be called Tigertailz than my actual real name,” he continues. “Or maybe just Tiger, since that Z would still give me nightmares, and I would prefer to just avoid them altogether on the nomenclature front.”

“Okay then,” Derek says. “I’ll see you next week, Tiger.”

He grins and walks away, and Stiles can do nothing but stare after him as he does so, because apparently that just actually happened. That was definitely flirting, unequivocally, undeniably. He feels pretty awesome round about now, and not even his manager having a stern word about buying three hundred dollars worth of Van Halen vinyls that are all still languishing in the rails can dampen his mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally worked out where this was heading enough to carry on without writing myself into a corner, but for nearly a week I just had "Derek didn’t show last week" written ominously on a blank page.
> 
> Funnily enough, just like Derek I only know one Hanoi Rocks and one Vain song. Tigertailz are a mystery to me, but I know some people who like this kind of music and I'm surreptitiously using them for ideas.


	3. March, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know this is a bad idea, right?” Scott warns him from the entrance, blocking the doorway and causing a couple in a rush behind them to curse loudly in their direction.
> 
> When Stiles thinks back on it later that day, he realises Scott wasn't warning him. He was forewarning him.

## Saturday 12th March

Stiles and Scott are doing what they do every weekend they can, skating followed by a visit to In-N-Out, when Stiles’s hopes come crashing around him. He isn’t sure why he didn’t expect it really, because three full days of feeling good about himself was too many in a row to feel safe. But safe he felt, until the walk from the park to the fast food joint.

“Isaac wants to meet up in a bit, that cool?” Scott asks him carefully.

Isaac is a bit of a sore subject since Stiles spent a good three months convinced he was trying to steal his best friend away from him. He still wasn’t a hundred percent on board with the drunken heart to heart he’d forced upon him, Isaac saying he wasn’t taking anyone from anyone, and that he wanted to be friends with him just as much, but that Stiles made it really difficult.

He privately scoffs at the memory. He was never difficult to be around.

Okay, maybe he had a point.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies distractedly. “Maybe I can convince him to come down to the store and buy some stock I accidentally went a bit overboard with.” Not so accidentally, he added mentally. “You think he likes Van Halen?”

Scott stares at him cluelessly.

“For a smart kid, you sure don’t know about so much. Jump? Panama? Eruption?” He stops himself from continuing, because Scott had gone from clueless to a look that suggested he was about to ask exactly why Stiles had an encyclopaedic knowledge all of a sudden. “Anyway, Argent’s threatening to dock half the money I spent out of my wages if they don’t start to sell within the next few weeks. I’m desperate. 150 dollars is a lot to lose!”

“Why did you --” Scott starts, but Stiles quickly hushes him with a finger when he spots a familiar gait ahead of them. “Whuttreyadoon?” he manages to sputter between Stiles’s fingers.

“It’s Derek,” he says. “Oh my god. I can’t see him now! It’s not Tuesday, I’m not in the store, it’s bad luck!”

“Who is Derek?”

“Rolex Guy,” he says, “I swear I told you this already, you need to work on your hearing.”

“Oh, him,” Scott says with a scowl. “He sounds like a douche.”

“He called me Tiger.” Scott scowls even more at the proud little smile Stiles is wearing. “Oh stop it, you’re like a jealous boyfriend.”

“Hah, pot kettle black,” Scott chokes out between fake laughs. Now it’s Stiles’s turn to scowl.

He’s torn between slipping down a side street and walking a different way to the restaurant and surreptitiously following Derek to see what he’s up to, because seeing him outside the shop for the first time has left him feeling weirdly giddy because he _exists_ , he is a real person and not a carefully crafted hallucination his mind created during his dull afternoon hours. Scott probably wouldn’t much like either option, so he decides on the latter because it was the least obvious, since it was currently easy to follow Derek while he was going in the same direction.

Ten minutes later, he’s presented with a dilemma. Derek heads off into a building and Stiles desperately wants to follow him inside, but since it turns out to be the train station, it’s unlikely he can think of any unsuspecting way to get Scott inside.

Fortunately, he’s not as subtle as he thinks he is, and Scott immediately turns to enter the station.

“What are you --” Stiles starts, but a withering look from Scott is enough to have him scurrying behind.

Damn his predictability.

“You know this is a bad idea, right?” Scott warns him from the entrance, blocking the doorway and causing a couple in a rush behind them to curse loudly in their direction.

When Stiles thinks back on it later that day, he realises Scott wasn't warning him. He was forewarning him.

***

Once inside the train station, he manages to lose Derek in the crowd and it’s not until a train pulls in to the nearest platform that he spots him again, and then it’s only because someone shouts his name. Stiles whirls round at the sound, just in time to see a beautiful girl around his age run and leap into Derek’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and hugging him fiercely. Even though he’s too far away for it to be possible, it still feels as though he can hear the delighted laugh that crosses Derek’s face at that moment.

Stiles feels all the blood in his body turn to ice.

“Stiles?” Scott asks, concerned at the sudden change in his mood. He follows his eyeline and spots them.

“Stiles.”

It’s part warning - don’t do anything stupid, part apology - I’m sorry he’s obviously seeing someone else, and part ‘I told you so’. He doesn’t want to hear any of them, doesn’t want sad looks and shoulder patting, doesn’t want burgers with extra fries Scott will ask the server to give him when he thinks Stiles isn’t listening because he’s having a ‘bad day and needs cheering up’.

He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t do subtle.

“Have fun with Isaac,” he says flatly, before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving Scott staring after him, dejected. For once, he doesn’t care about the Best Friend Battle he’s currently in. He thinks he’s losing the war anyway, and right now that’s the last thing he wants to be reminded of.

## Tuesday 15th March

Stiles wishes he’d called in sick half an hour into his shift.

The shop feels even deader than usual, and he imagines tumbleweeds blowing disdainfully through the aisles, eventually graduating them to mini tornados that rip through the racks, picking up every hair metal vinyl they own and then smashing them on the floor at the climax of their rampage, forcing Derek to find another record store in which he can stomp on the heart of the beleaguered assistant who’d have to face him.

The minute hand practically creaks as it pushes its way upward, and every step it takes fills him with further dread.

Eventually it hits three, and on cue Derek comes in, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he calls over and Stiles fights to stay focused on the computer screen beside him, pretending not to have heard. After a few beats, Derek frowns slightly before heading off to his usual spots, and Stiles watches him the entire time, quickly glancing back if ever their eyes met.

“Hey Tiger,” Derek says again, this time from directly in front of him, and he looks up, not even feigning to jump in shock. “Did you listen to those songs I told you about?”

“Didn’t get chance,” Stiles replies, sounding purposefully bored.

“Oh.” Derek sounds genuinely confused. “You seemed pretty interested in them, that’s all.”

“That’s good customer service for you,” Stiles replies evenly.

He sees Derek’s eyes widen in shock, sees the trace of hurt in them, a shimmer to his right eye that suggests Stiles has really said something terrible here. He almost apologises, pretends he was joking, but he can’t stop himself from seeing Derek with the girl wrapped around him, can see the glorious smile plastered across his face still, and it hardens his hearts and forces him back into his cold demeanor.

Derek looks like he’s about to say something, but before he does, he copies Stiles’s example from the station and just turns and walks away, leaving whatever it is he was about to buy on the counter. Stiles hadn’t even realised he’d picked things up, despite watching him the entire time.

He stiffens when he sees that all three vinyls on the counter were from among the Van Halen stock his boss was on his ass to shift. He whips his head up, suddenly forgetting his anger because it’s more important to try and make amends and get this damn stuff out of the store.

But Derek is gone, the door practically slamming shut behind him.

Stiles watches him walk out into the road, angrily shoving his hand on the hood of a car that skids to a halt in the middle of the road. He can hear the horn blaring from it. Derek looks like he mouths “fuck off!” to the driver before stalking away down the sidewalk to god knows where.

Stiles wants to cry. He can’t help it. Even though he’s supposed to be the one hurting, it feels instead like he’s the one being punished for it.

## Tuesday 22nd March

Only one person comes into the shop for the four hours Stiles is there.

It isn’t Derek.

Stiles doesn’t know whether he’s glad of that or not.

## Tuesday 29th March

Still no sign.

Stiles is pretty certain now that he caused some kind of irreparable damage the other week, but he doesn’t know how. All he knows is that he made a mistake - got angry, went on the defensive instead of just accepting it and trying to still be the guy’s friend. Now every potential outcome has narrowed to one, depressing certainty.

He’s never going to see Derek again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, don't be so depressing Stiles, I'm positive Derek will turn up again.
> 
> \----
> 
> Sorry for the huge delay! Sadly, life got in the way of getting free time to write, and all my WIPs are suffering. This is Part One of course correction.


	4. April, Part I

## Tuesday 05th April

Quarter past three. For the third week in a row, the shop has been painfully empty.

Chris has actually threatened to replace him, and Stiles isn’t sure if he means moving him to a different day or just outright firing him for ordering so much stock that still hasn’t been touched. He isn’t honestly sure if he cares either way.

He misses Derek. He knows it’s ridiculous to miss someone he’s had five conversations with, ever (and only two, maybe three of those could even be counted as conversations rather than one-sided interactions with another person) but it doesn’t stop it from happening.

Why had he let himself fuck up like this?

Chris is about to take him into the back for a ‘talk’ which Stiles is pretty sure is him getting fired when the bell goes. He flips round instantly and says “it’ll have to wait, Mr Argent,” who scowls and disappears. Knowing he’s here, for the first time since the day he started, has been putting him off his usual routine all afternoon and there’s a pile of unsorted records on the counter that would usually have been put away over an hour ago.

They’re stacked so high he can’t immediately see who’s in the shop, which means obviously not Derek. He’s still not sure how he feels about that when a head pops into view, and suddenly he really wishes it was.

Because it isn’t Derek, but his girlfriend, the one from the station. She’s slender and raven haired and beautiful, and he can see exactly why Derek would choose her. She might be his age, or perhaps a year or two older, he isn’t quite sure, and if he was still as interested in girls as he is in guys then he’d have been swooning over her like he did with Lydia back in the day, because he can already see she’s assured and athletic but not arrogant with it. She smiles at him like they’ve met a hundred times before, and it breaks his heart a little to not be able to hate her like he wants to.

“Hey,” he says to her, imagining Chris squeezing his temple at the informality. He’d never got the point that record stores are not an upscale department store, and therefore don’t require the same level of service. “Excuse the mess,” he adds, leaning to swoop the pile of albums off the counter.

“Oh no,” she replies, placing a hand on top of them and scooping half of them down into two piles. “Let me look through,” she says, “it takes all the fun out of it when they’re alphabetised. Derek hates it.” She pauses, looks up at him questioningly. “You know Derek, right?”

It almost tumbles out of his mouth straight away - I know Derek, and I know you, I saw you together at the station. But she seems genuinely interested in this, in hunting for something, and Stiles can understand because he prefers her way of doing things too - and hey, if she buys something it might stop Chris from kicking him out.

“He was like the only customer we ever had on a Tuesday until now,” he says, quickly laughing to cover up the oddly despondent tone he used when he said it. “So yeah, I know him. He’s... memorable.”

“That he is,” she laughs. “There isn’t really anything in here I can see him getting. What does he usually look at?” she asks, having finished through one half of the piles and clearly not in the mood to start on the second.

“Oh, you know,” Stiles answers, surprised to find that she doesn’t, “all that eighties hair metal stuff, he started buying stuff so we bought in extra stock then he stopped showing up and now it’s just all sitting there and believe me, I doubt anyone else is gonna go for it --”

He quickly shuts his mouth, because he’s said way too much.

“Show me,” she says, her tone suddenly serious.

Stiles takes her to the Van Halen rack because that’s what is causing most of the trouble and if he can somehow convince her to buy something then that would be amazing right now. “Here,” he says, “this is most of the stuff I, I mean we bought in, but he hasn’t seemed keen on it, if you were thinking of getting it for him...”

He trailed off because that was the exact opposite of trying to sell it to her. Goddamn his mouth.

“No, I know him, he just doesn’t like showing off that he has money.” She grins up at him. “But I do.”

She picks up everything, all three hundred dollars worth of stock, and carries it gracefully up to the counter.

“What’s the point in living and being rich if you don’t splurge a little, right?” she says to him, and he just nods back dumbfounded. This is seriously happening. His problems are solved, and by the person he thought he’d hate more than anything.

“Derek told me he has a loyalty card?” she says, her real question implied.

“If I was here on my own,” Stiles says quietly, “I totally would do the discount anyway, but my boss is in the back and he’s a real hardass. I can sort you out a card of your own if you still want?”

“Go ahead,” she smiles. “What do you need?”

“Name, address, the usual.”

“Cora,” she says. “Hale, although if you know Derek you don’t need me telling you that.”

You’re right, Stiles thinks, I don’t. Because that is just so much worse that what he had been thinking.

She tells him the address, and sure enough it’s the same as Derek’s (not that he has it memorised or anything) and it feels like it’s extra hard work for his heart to keep pumping the blood round his body due to the extra weight these extra bit of informations place on it.

“There you go,” he says. “You get 25% off because you have more than five items,” he forces out mechanically.

She gives a little “oh” of surprise, before she smiles at him again.

“I tell you what,” she says. “Since I bet your boss won’t do anything to reward you for such good service, call it 20% and keep the extra five percent for yourself.” She passes over the money, and when he tries to give her the original change she pushes the fifteen dollars difference back at him, and winks.

“You know, you’re definitely something,” she says. “If I wasn’t spoken for, I’d think about snapping you up myself.” He stares at her, disbelievingly. “Some people have all the luck,” she adds, pretending to be disappointed, and he’s so far beyond confused it’s just a speck on the horizon. Before he can ask what the hell she’s on about, she grabs her bag off the counter and then walks away.

As soon as the bell rings, he hears Chris making his way out of the office and quickly pockets the money Cora left on the counter for him. Obviously she’d been distracting him from giving it back again, or something. He still wasn’t sure what the hell had happened when Chris put a hand on his shoulder, startling him.

“Mr. Stilinski,” he says, like his daughter isn’t friends with him and he’s never met him before. “We need to discuss the issues you’ve placed on this store recently.”

“The stock,” Stiles says resignedly, before it hits him. The stock is gone. All gone. “It’s gone.”

“What?” Chris sounds unimpressed like Stiles is trying to play a prank on him.

“All gone,” he exclaims gleefully. “Someone just bought all three hundred dollars worth.”

He pulls out the receipt to prove it, and all the tension in Chris’s shoulders relaxes. Stiles can tell that he isn’t Mr. Argent in this moment, but Allison’s dad, the guy who gave him a job when he was struggling and saved his ass after he accidentally got his dad fired as sheriff.

“Well, it seems our problem is solved, Stiles,” he says, formality out of the window. “I trust you can look after the place until Matt comes in at four?” Stiles nods, because although he hates having to put up with Matt for ten minutes each week, that’s how much the guy creeps him out, it’s more important to show that he can be trusted, that he is trusted still. It makes him feel a fraction bit better.

“Excellent, I need to take Allison to her jujitsu class,” Chris says and heads out the door.

***

The last half an hour passes quickly, and he pretends to have some important doctors appointment to attend to avoid Matt’s blatant attempts to get closer to Allison through him. He fake smiles and heads out, wondering if he should tell Scott when he thinks about Allison’s multiple martial arts classes and decides it would be a waste of everyone’s time.

His fake smile slips as he wanders down the street, and before long he’s in a horrible mood. He needs to talk this out, to say the words out loud so he can move forward with his life. He calls Scott, even though he’d just talked himself out of it. This was about a different matter though.

Scott answered on the third ring.

“What’s up, dude? You didn’t get fired did you? Because I’ll tell Allison to speak to her dad if--”

“I didn’t get fired. In fact, my problems with the stock are over. The whole lot went this afternoon.”

“What, seriously? Who--”

“Cora. That’s the woman from the train station, in case you were wondering. Cora _Hale_.” Scott made a questioning noise from the other end of the line. “It’s his fucking _wife_ , Scott,” he blurts out angrily. All his rage bubbled up to the surface for a brief moment at the spoken declaration, at how he’d fallen for someone completely and utterly unattainable yet again. “He’s married, Scott. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hopeless at updating, I know, I feel terrible about it. I have a nice plan of where this is heading now after a week of panicking about it though!
> 
> Stiles is an absolute idiot, bless him. That's the far less obvious thing to think if two people have the same surname, but I figure he's convinced everything he wants is futile at this point. Which is a little depressing really.
> 
> I hope you didn't miss Derek too much btw, he'll be back soon!


	5. April, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for the massive delay. Writer's block sucks. Have an longer-than-usual chapter as an apology!

## Tuesday 12th April

When the bell rings at exactly three o’clock, for a moment Stiles thinks Derek is back. It was barely ten seconds past the hour, so he forgave himself for getting his hopes up when Cora waves at him from the doorway.

“Afternoon handsome,” she says. Stiles isn’t sure he’s entirely comfortable with his unattainable crush’s wife flirting with him, but since he struck out, it’s the closest thing to revenge he could ever manage.

“Why thank you, my dear lady,” he replies.

Okay, maybe he’s terrible at this.

Luckily, she just laughs delightedly and beams at him. He makes her so happy; his brain can’t help but stab that thought into his heart. She doesn’t look round, just comes straight to the counter and leans on it. He gives her a questioning look.

“Usually people have something in their hand when they’re stood there,” he says, before belatedly wondering if that sounds a little too risque and immediately amending it. “Records, in fact. Sometimes one, mostly several.”

“Then they’re missing an opportunity to have their music tastes guided by the cute and undoubtedly knowledgeable guy behind the counter,” she responds. “Come on, show off to me.”

She beckons him round the counter, and she’s such a force of nature that he doesn’t feel in control of his own feet as they scurry round and out into the aisles even as he’s trying to tell her that he should probably stay behind the till in case another customer comes in. Not that they will. No one ever does.

“You seriously want me to pick things out for you?”

“Not for me, per se. I’m trying to widen Derek’s horizons.”

As a form of punishment, it’s a cruel one. Even worse is that she engages him in conversation while he racks his brains trying to think of anything that would suffice this little assignment; quiet “Derek seems unhappy” and “he isn’t going out like he used to” comments peppering his thoughts and lodging between them, giant black holes that suck up every other thought he has until his brain is obsidian, a black solid mass with anything approaching happy thoughts rapidly shrinking snowflakes across it.

“I’m having such a brainfart right now,” he says. “Someone puts you on the spot and bam, you can’t think of anything when normally I would have like fifty different suggestions to break him out of that awful bouffant haired spell he’s under.”

Cora laughs, the smile that had grown smaller as she had doled out snippets of Derek’s depression widening again.

“Just think about Derek. I know you don’t really know him, but he must have given you an impression.”

Hadn’t he just. That was half the problem.

“He’s like -- I don’t know. A chihuahua in wolf’s clothing.”

He had to wait for Cora to calm her laughter at that. She begged him to explain between gasps of breath.

“Well he’s like this big snarly gruff wolf on the outside, barely says two words and bites your head off if you try and talk to him. Then once you get under his skin, which I did because I do it with everyone, and I mean _every_ one, you find out he’s actually a cuddly little puppy, but much like a chihuahua he’d still bite your fingers off given a chance.”

She gives him an appraising look.

“You figured all that out from a few shop visits?”

“I pride myself on excellent profiling. I’ve never been wrong about anyone yet.”

“I think you know him better than most, including himself,” she says, with an odd expression on her face.

Stiles figures he’s gone too far, this weird budding friendship they’re forging ruined by his Derek obsession. It’ll end up being like the time he tried to make peace with Jackson back in the day, he thinks, that brief period of mutual civility ruined by his inability to keep his infatuation to an acceptable level.

“Maybe you can sort him out, break him out of this funk he’s in,” she says finally, and he lets out the breath he was subconsciously holding. “Pick him out something to cheer him up.”

It takes some time. He works through the alphabet of artists he likes in his head, discarding most offhand. He settles initially for an All Time Low record, the one he first got into and unintentionally the one with the title that most describes how he views their (imaginary) relationship.

“So Wrong It’s Right,” Cora questions without actually making it sound like a question.

“It’s honest,” he replies. She just shrugs and lets him get on with it.

G calls to him and he pulls out a slightly worn looking copy of The ‘59 Sound by The Gaslight Anthem. Cora acts like she knows it and gives him an approving nod. He kind of hates how much he likes her.

Jimmy Eat World call to him next, and he debates for a good five minutes until Cora coughs very unsubtly and breaks him out of his reverie. “Sorry,” he says hurriedly, “having an inner conflict because this is the happier album,” he says, “but this one is my personal favourite so I’m torn. You did say break him out of his funk, not cause him to cry manly into his stubble though --”

“I’ll just get both. I’ll point out that Futures is your favourite.”

She gives him another strange look and he feels like she’s sizing him up like some kind of rival. It’s a weird thing to experience but he’s nearly sure that’s what is going on.

Finally, he shakes this thought enough to pick one final album.

“Look, ...Is A Real Boy is a pop-punk classic, all kinds of angry and fucked up and wonderful, he can at least work out some aggression singing along terribly to this, so it has to be included,” he says, feeling defensive of his choices now. “Not that I’ve ever done that.”

She chuckles but Stiles still feels tension;he just isn’t sure if it’s all in his head or not.

“So you think these encompass Derek’s personality?” she asks him as they head back to the counter.

He thinks about it for a moment. “Not really,” he admits. “But they encompass mine, and I’m happy.”

It’s a lie and he’s ashamed of it, but it seems to work.

“I’ll be sure to mention it,” she smiles.

He rings up the records and like last time, she insists on changing the discount so he can keep a portion for himself. It’s in these small moments that he almost prefers her to Derek, who’s never offered such a thing. It’s a fleeting  thought, however.

It’s as she’s walking towards the door that he thinks about something Scott had said after the little revelation of Cora and Derek’s marriage; that he needed to be more forgiving, less judgemental. “What did it matter if Derek was married,” Scott had argued. “You thought he was a good person before, and he never actually expressed any interest in cheating on his wife, so why are you giving him a hard time?”

At the time he’d ignored it completely, but now, after he’d spent almost an hour hanging out with Cora despite knowing she was married to the guy he liked and had a good time, why was he being so hard on Derek?

“Hey, Cora,” he shouts before he can talk himself out of it. “Can you do me a favour?”

“Sure,” she says beneath a smirk. He isn’t sure what’s caused it, but it’s too late to back down now.

“Tell Derek I listened to those songs.”

“What did you think of them?” she asks, which spikes his interest because it isn’t “what songs?” which means she knows of the conversation the other we -- okay, over a month ago now. Which, now he thinks about it, is the most ridiculous amount of time to have wasted over something so stupid.

It helps him make up his mind on his reply though.

“Tell him to come in and find out.”

Cora breaks into a full on smile and Stiles can’t help but feel like he did something right somehow. The last five minutes of his shift pass by in a blur, and as he heads home he can only think about one thing.

He really needs to listen to those songs now.

## Tuesday 19th April

He doesn’t actually think it will work. He spent a long time making slow, painful amounts of headway with Lydia only to fall right back to the start again, so there’s no reason to believe this will be an exception. When the clock hits five past three, he sighs with perverse contentment. Everything is back to normal.

Then Derek walks through the door.

“Hi,” he says from the doorway, faltering like he’s nervous and desperate to apologise and make things right, or maybe Stiles is projecting because that’s exactly how he feels, and now the moment is here and he’s really fucking scared.

“Hey.”

For about the hundredth time since he started working here, he wished Chris would let him actually play records while he was working. It was a music shop, and it didn’t play music; Chris argued that it would distract him from his job, which was the worst excuse ever in Stiles’s opinion. Right now, it would stop the horrendous tense silence from existing. He tries to battle through it.

“I take it Cora told you --”

He trails off as Derek heads straight for the counter, looking like he wants to wrap Stiles up in his arms. Maybe he sees the look of panic on Stiles’s face, or maybe that isn’t what he was planning to do and Stiles is projecting again, but he stops a couple of feet away from the counter with a severe expression.

“What did you think?” he asks with finality, like it’s a matter of life and death.

“I got confused by No Respect, I thought my volume was broke and then jumped out of my skin and woke my dad up at two in the morning when it got to the chorus.”

Derek laughs.

“Yeah, I did the same thing the first time.”

“The other one was really good. I even downloaded a couple of other songs, but they weren’t really my thing.”

Derek nods as if he’s satisfied by this, which he supposes is fair enough when it’s the only song Derek really knows by them too. There’s still a cloud shaped much like an elephant floating between them, with Stiles not sure if he’d rather it be acknowledged or left to linger, to evanesce - but it’s a start, this stilted conversation; he can put right some of the wrong he placed between them.

“I could tell from the records you sent me,” Derek replies, and Stiles has to stop and think about that one.

“That I sent --”

Derek frowns, and Stiles can sense two things; he’s losing Derek again, and Cora is up to something.

“Yeah, that I sent. My gift to you, a plea if you will, me expressing hope that it isn’t too late to change your ways and get you to listen to something made with a two at the start of the year.” Nicely saved, he thinks.

No thanks to Cora, the sneaky --

He’s torn from whatever pejorative he was about to use by Derek placing something on the counter, and Stiles doesn’t even remember Derek moving closer. Everything feels slightly hallucinatory. He looks down at the object on the counter. A blank CD in a clear case, a large Post-It stuck to the inside with cramped looping handwriting on it.

“What’s th... is this a mix CD?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, his voice quiet and it feels as though he’s physically shrinking as he speaks. “I thought, you know, since you did that for me I should do something for you. Cora told me you picked them out especially, so I thought I should do something for you. I already said that, didn’t I?”

If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d swear Derek was flushing and stammery because he was in the presence of the boy he liked, except the wife waiting at home or work or wherever kind of puts the kibosh on that theory.

“You did. I got the impression you wanted to do something for me, but I’m not sure why.”

He grins and is relieved when Derek does the same.

“I know it’s nothing compared to what you did, but I had to --”

Derek trails off as he realises he’s about to say “do something for you” for the third time and Stiles bursts out laughing.

“You’re adorable,” he says before his eyes widen slightly and he quickly fiddles around on the computer aimlessly. “That wasn’t really the word I was aiming for. You’re not a puppy, you’re a person. Sorry.”

“I thought I was a chihuahua,” Derek smirks, and Stiles might kill Cora next time he sees her.

“That was an analogy,” Stiles pouts, but Derek is still smiling.

“Better than a wolf,” he says. “But not as good as a tiger. I’ll see you next week,” he adds, “I have to go meet Cora. I hope you like the CD.”

It takes a full five minutes after Derek leaves the shop with a smile on his face for Stiles to realise what Derek’s tiger comment means. The stupid nickname he gave him, the really flirtatious one from the last time they’d been on good terms before today. It was back, and the strange feeling of a headlong crash into something with it, all thanks to Cora.

He hadn’t felt so conflicted in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a chihuahua, and he is half cuddly half piranha. It seemed fitting.
> 
> One of the worst parts of this chapter was working out what albums Stiles would pick, and I ended up just picking a few I would recommend to people. But now Derek has done a mix CD (of songs I'm still working out!) it's natural that Stiles will want to return the favour with something more personal too. It's a good job I have a huge music collection, and that there's several thousand Sterek fanmixes around to help me! 
> 
> Hopefully you won't have such a long wait for the next chapter, since I don't have a horrible void where the plot should be for it this time.


	6. April, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia was back for the weekend, which meant a get-together at the Martin household was a given. She couldn’t make trips home as often as she would have liked, but since she was triple majoring it was entirely her own fault in Stiles’s opinion.

## Friday 22nd April

Lydia was back for the weekend, which meant a get-together at the Martin household was a given. She couldn’t make trips home as often as she would have liked, but since she was triple majoring it was entirely her own fault in Stiles’s opinion.

He spent half his car journey singing loudly to Taylor Swift before caving and switching the CD out for the mix Derek made. He was trying not to overplay but this was the third day he’d ended up listening to it more than once, and he’d only had it three days. He couldn’t help it; it sent such a mixed message that he had this overwhelming need to understand the meaning behind every song.

Not the literal meaning that the artist intended; what Derek meant by them, what they meant to Derek. For every song that sounded like an “I want to be with you” that screwed with his head, there was another that either sounded full of loathing or complete indifference, depending on how they were read.

He didn’t reach the end of the CD by the time he made it to the Martin’s place, which meant that he wasn’t left pondering on the inclusion of Weezer’s out of place (If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To at the end, followed by a minute of silence then the Hanoi Rocks song they’d already bonded over. Had they really bonded though? Stiles supposed that picking out albums and songs for each other granted them some sort of relationship that went beyond customer and server, but he wasn’t sure how far past that line they now were.

What catches his attention and grinds him to a momentary halt is that in calling Weezer out of place, it dawns on him just how little of the mix features any music Derek had been buying. Guns N Roses aside, everything else was 90’s alternative or more recent stuff - Pearl Jam, Nine Inch Nails, Garbage, Björk - of which Derek had expressed absolutely zero interest in previous encounters.

He reaches the front door before he can really begin to contemplate all this, and Lydia is there in an instant, sweeping him through to the guest lounge where Scott, Isaac, Allison and Jackson are already waiting.

“I swear it said half eight on the invitation?” Stiles says lamely. It probably didn’t.

“Eight sharp. You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

He almost takes a step back because if Lydia decides she’s annoyed with him, then the best thing to do would be bolt out the door and hope her heels are too high for her to catch up. They’d probably have to be at least ten inches high for that to happen, and they certainly don’t look it.

She gives him a beaming smile after a beat, and his heart races to start doing that exact thing once more.

“Since I haven’t been around for a while, I’ll allow it this once. Just stop dawdling next time, you must have been out on the driveway for nearly ten minutes staring into space.”

So much for being a momentary halt, he thinks.

He makes his way across the room and sits pointedly next to Scott with an exaggerated smile, ignoring Jackson’s snickering and Isaac's frown and narrowed eyes. Just because it was for his benefit, doesn’t mean he has to watch the reaction. He knows it will be there, and that’s enough.

“Hey Scotty,” he beams, “where are Danny and Ethan?”

He can’t imagine a reason they’d manage to be even later than he was, and he hopes that they’re still showing. The ratio of people he likes to people he tolerates is dangerously close to 50:50 right now, which means that his question probably doesn’t sound too subtle. He’s too distracted to truly care.

“Probably parked up somewhere, if I know Danny,” Jackson replies with a proud smile.

Lydia hits him in the shoulder with some hidden force that makes him rub at it with his usual seductive yet sulky glower. “Don’t be so crass,” she snaps at him. “I want tonight to be at least masquerading as sophisticated, if not the real thing.”

“Then why did you invite Stiles?” Jackson snipes, but Stiles isn’t really listening to anything and a snappy comeback is noticeably absent. He comes out of his daze to find them all looking at him quizzically.

“Did someone say something?”

“What is with you tonight Stiles?” Lydia asks, a mix of concern and judgement.

He fumbles around for a satisfactory reply. “Just something to do with work.”

He can feel Scott turn to look at him as their shoulders slowly push against each other, and all he can think is that he wants to know how Derek feels against him. He flinches away at the thought of Scott’s touch bringing that out of him, but he passes it off as a sudden chill.

“Dad isn’t on your case again, is he?” Allison asks him, concerned without Lydia’s added judgement.

“Hmm?”

“... with work?” she prompts, her frown deepening. “You didn’t buy tons of stock again, did you?”

Jackson coughs to cover up his laugh.

“No, nothing like that. Anyway I’m sure Cora would just snap it all up again.”

It comes out surprisingly bitter, but no one notices because of the excited squeak that comes out of Lydia, who seems just as shocked as the others but remains visibly excited even after she composes herself.

“Cora Hale?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know she was back in town! I must try and catch up with her tomorrow. She must be staying with her brother, I wonder if I still have the address saved somewhere --”

She just about stops herself from actually getting up and going to look, while Stiles tries to take in everything she just said plus Jackson’s grimace of horror. Stiles wants to tell her that he knows the address she’s living at now, but that would be admitting the level of stalking going on and Scott would definitely bring up Derek. He doesn’t want all that coming out, not in front of Jackson and Isaac.

The door chimes suddenly, and Lydia jumps up like a jack in the box.

“Danny’s finally here!” she says with only a hint of disapproval. “I’ll let him in and then just go look up her number, give me two minutes.”

She runs out of the room and a minute later the sound of heels clicking upstairs can be heard when the door reopens and Danny and Ethan walk in. They wave to everyone and sit down together in between Jackson and Isaac, the former still frowning to himself.

“Hey,” Danny says, “sorry we got - delayed.” He and Ethan share a significant look that suggests Jackson wasn’t far wrong with his earlier assumption. “What’s with the face?”

“Cora’s in town,” Jackson answers, spitting out the name like sour milk.

“I thought Lydia seemed chirpier than usual,” Danny replies, fending off a half-serious punch in the arm as he laughs. “You’re not worried she’s gonna run away with her are you? That was years ago!”

“I’m sorry, what?” Isaac pipes up for the first time since Stiles arrived.

“Cora and Lydia had a fling back in high school, when her and Mr On-Off were off,” Danny answers, throwing a thumb in Jackson’s direction and naming him as Mr On-Off. “I’m surprised you don’t remember her Stiles, you and Lydia were always close.”

There was a lot of implication and insinuation in that question, but Stiles wasn’t paying full attention because something was niggling at his brain that some important information had just come to light, but Cora and Lydia having a thing was definitely not it.

“Not really,” he mumbles, brain still whirring.

“She left not too long after,” Danny shrugs as if that’s a reason not to remember. “The fire and everything.”

“The fire?” Allison says, spinning round and knocking over her thankfully empty glass to the floor.

“Her family’s house was burned down, most of them didn’t make it. Her brother stayed in town, but she left with her older sister. Hasn’t been back in well over a year, Lydia always gets like this when she’s around.”

Stiles turns to look at Scott as his mind begins racing, but he’s too preoccupied with Allison, who has gone pale and quiet suddenly. Lydia called her Cora Hale, he thinks, and Cora Hale hasn’t been in Beacon Hills for over a year. There was no way a married couple would be apart for that long, but Derek had definitely looked like he hadn’t seen Cora in that long. Cora Hale. Derek Hale. Her brother stayed in town…

Lydia chooses that moment to come back in triumphantly, clutching a piece of paper in her hand.

“I knew I still had it!” she exclaims, grabbing her phone and firing out a text at rapid pace.

“Hey Lydia,” Stiles says with his eyes still fixed on Scott, “why don’t I remember Cora?”

“You were chasing after Heather, I needed someone else to annoy Jackson with,” she replies. It doesn’t even feel like an insult any more, hearing something like that. “She was gone before you had chance to ever meet her properly. Her and Laura moved to New York after everything happened. The brother stayed because there was an uncle in the hospital? Something like that, I’m not big on the details, we don’t really talk about stuff like that when she’s here.”

Jackson scowls, hoping that there’s at least some talking going on when they meet up.

“The brother?”

“Derek, the basketball captain. You _must_ remember him --”

He doesn’t even have time to process all the new information because Scott notices that Stiles is looking at him just as Lydia says the crucial name. He opens his mouth and Stiles knows he’s going to spill everything if he doesn’t stop him. So he pretends to fall off the sofa and drags Scott to the floor with him.

“Dude! What the --” Scott starts, but Stiles cuts him off with a furious hiss as they lay tangled in the floor. “Oh. Oh! I won’t say anything,” he whispers in Stiles’s ear as they untangle and climb back on the sofa, having completely drawn the conversation away from the Hales.

Danny and Jackson are reminiscing about lacrosse days while Ethan and Isaac strike up an awkward conversation, the two not usually finding themselves together. Allison is still quiet, but Lydia has dragged her off to look at outfits for a lunch date with Cora, and Stiles is in a daze.

The Hales. Derek and Cora, brother and sister not husband and wife. It all seems painfully obvious now, and Stiles isn’t actually sure why on earth he came to the conclusion he did. Some part of him obviously couldn’t believe that what he now realises was almost certainly flirting could actually be that, especially factoring in some of Cora’s comments which now make a lot more sense. Plus lying and saying Stiles had given Derek those albums - was she matchmaking? More importantly, was it working?

Stiles suddenly really wants to leave, to go sit in the car listen to that mix CD again with a whole new world of possibilities lay hidden in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this at least three times until I was happy with it, which explains but doesn't excuse the huge gap between chapters.
> 
> It also took far too long to make a suitable mix CD and then it turned out to not be important in this chapter except the mention at the beginning -_-
> 
> Please feel free to come over to my tumblr and shout at me to get on with it in future if the big delays are infuriating you as much as they infuriate me! Same name as on here.


	7. April, Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All day?” Stiles repeats. “You’re going to stay out front all day and help with customers?”  
> “Absolutely,” Chris replies. “I need to make sure all my staff are up to standard.”  
> This had something to do with buying that stock, Stiles just knew. He definitely needed a word with Allison because this just wasn’t on.

## Tuesday 26th April

This was literally the worst luck Stiles had ever had. Finally he and Derek would have had a chance to discuss their friendship, mix-CD-ship, whatever it was, but for one rather large problem sat on a chair by the counter.

“All day?” Stiles repeats. “You’re going to stay out front all day and help with customers?”

“Absolutely,” Chris replies. “I need to make sure all my staff are up to standard.”

This had something to do with buying that stock, Stiles just knew. He definitely needed a word with Allison because this just wasn’t on. There wasn’t much he could do about the harassment short of quitting, and that would be extremely counterproductive to his “get Derek interested” campaign.

“You do realise we don’t actually have customers on a Tuesday, right?”

“Then what do you do all afternoon?”

Chris raised one arch eyebrow in a amused, knowing gesture. The answer was nothing, was always nothing. Until Derek or Cora appeared, he would just lounge in the chair on his iPad which he stashed in the middle of the broken vinyl box behind the counter if Chris happened to show up or come in to do accounts in the back.

“Fix the computer. That thing is ancient, and everyone misuses it. Every week, I have to run the same clean-up programs on it.” It wasn’t a lie, he did do that, it’s just it took five minutes to get them started and he could just leave them running in the background. “You don’t want the thing crashing, I’m sure.”

He tried his best to sound sincere, but it probably didn’t work. Chris just nodded once in response.

“That takes all afternoon, does it?” he asks finally.

“Sometimes. Usually De -- a regular or two come in at three which can take up most of the final hour if they’re looking for something specific.” Stiles has learnt now to battle with words, and this is definitely turning out to be one.

“Something specific like a lot of old 80’s vinyl no one else goes near?”

If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d say Chris’s eyes were twinkling like this whole conversation was a hilarious prank; the problem was Chris wasn’t really known for his sense of humour. Stiles still remembered the story Scott told him about Romeo and Juliet at the dinner table during his first dinner with Allison’s family.

“It got sold,” is all he says back. It’s childish and petulant but he doesn’t care.

“I know it did. I was impressed with your ingenuity, although running it by me first in future would be better.”

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t all about the stock. Then why was Chris hanging around all day?

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much opportunity to find out, since he had to actually do some work for the first time in months. His iPad was safely in his backpack, since Stiles had luckily found out Chris would be supervising him before he’d unpacked his usual afternoon comforts, which meant actually fixing the computer up.

It turned out that he’d been rather lax in his upkeep of the decrepit old database Chris insisted on keeping. Several weeks of Derek drama, plus weeks of Derek joy meant he’d been clicking Clean and leaving it to it. But there were hundreds of badly tagged albums, misspellings and punctuation errors, wrong artists entirely on a few occasions. He’d offered more than once to come in of a Sunday afternoon and spend a few hours doing this so that everyone else wouldn’t mess it up constantly, but since that meant more wages being paid out Chris had refused.

Stiles was going to have a busy afternoon.

***

By the time it gets to three o’clock, his usual excitement and anticipation have been replaced by exhaustion and despondency. He’s had to run around the store several times to make sure an album that the database says is in stock is actually still there; four times so far it’s been wrong. He doesn’t even understand how, since the database has to be checked to make a sale.

This, plus a process of elimination, turns into Stiles carrying loads of records back and forth as he recalculates the entire database, album by album. Only thirty-seven titles actually matched up with the figures on the screen.

“You’ve hired a bunch of incompetents,” Stiles hisses at Chris as he brings over a pile of albums, having been forced into helping by the sheer magnitude of the job.

“One of them seems fairly competent to me,” Chris replies. “I’ll have to introduce you.”

His disbelief that Chris Argent just definitely cracked a joke is interrupted by the bell ringing as Derek walks in, punctual as always. He comes about halfway up the main aisle before he stops as Chris comes round the counter.

“Derek.”

“Chris.”

In just two words, Stiles knows he won’t be able to concentrate on the database any more. Both of them were so polite and casual, which he knows both of them never are. Plus Chris has never actually been around when Derek has been in shopping which means a history of some sort, and not a good one.

“Hi, Derek,” he says to slice through the tension.

“Stiles.”

Great. Derek is back to being cold and hostile again, thanks to Chris, and he’s the one who will have to pay for it. Except he’s not going to let Derek get away with this step back in their tentative friend/relationship thing.

“Looking for something in particular?”

“No, not today,” Derek replies slowly, warily. “I actually, erm, wanted to give you this.”

“Another gift?” Stiles says before he can stop himself, and he can practically feel Chris’s eyebrows rocket up his forehead as he inwardly cringes at letting the cat out of the bag at how close the two of them actually are.

“More of an invitation, actually. There’s this festival on Sunday, up at the park by the preserve.”

He holds out a leaflet which Stiles quickly accepts before Chris can somehow get involved.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to try and swing by.”

“Cora and I would both love it if you did,” Derek says, quickly looking down at the floor as he realises what he’s just said. Stiles can’t help but smile a little at the embarassment on Derek’s face, because it’s a world away from the first time they spoke. Plus it’s almost, not quite but almost, a date.

“I’ll see you both there then,” Stiles replies, folding the leaflet into his pocket and wondering who else to invite. Scott, definitely, which means Allison too. Lydia and Jackson? Maybe, depending how much Lydia can guarantee Jackson’s good behaviour for an afternoon.  He doesn’t want to go alone, that’s for sure, although he doesn’t even know who would be the third wheel. Can you third wheel a brother and sister?

Derek says goodbye and quickly leaves, and Stiles and Chris both give each other matching pointed looks.

“I didn’t know you were so interactive with customers, Stiles.”

“I didn’t know some of them were quite so well-known.”

“Derek and his, family,” Chris says, pausing before forcing the word out, “are well-known to most people in Beacon Hills. Come on, let’s try and at least get up to F finished before you leave.”

They get back to work, the general chatter and camaraderie of earlier lost, both of them performing their roles mechanically, soullessly. They do manage to finish F, and Chris halts before Stiles can accidentally carry on to avoid any further conversation.

“Your shift is almost up, but there’s something I want to discuss with you first.”

“This wasn’t just a random spot check, was it? I knew it!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Chris admits, “but whatever you think this was about, it isn’t. Victoria and I are being summoned on a cruise with my father in a few weeks time, and I need somebody to run this place while I’m away because frankly, I can’t afford to keep it shut for a month and I can’t let my staff be without work for that long either. Obviously I can’t ask you to run the whole store because you don’t know how to do the accounts or the rotas or balancing a cash register, so someone will be here to generally manage. But I want you to do the day-to-day stuff, and from what I’ve seen today you’ll be great at it.”

“You… I -- I don’t know what to say. You want me to be like, an assistant manager?”

“Pretty much. You know the other staff, you can help improve their work ethic, you can keep track of the database which is something even I can’t manage to do regularly. If you’re good and you do well, I might promote you permanently, depending what my relief manager says.”

“Seriously? Oh my god!”

“Seriously. But before I go, I need to know that database is a hundred percent accurate, all these mistakes are what’s going to run me into the ground if I don’t get things improved. So, since you’ve been on at me about it since you started, I’m taking you up on your offer to come in on Sundays and fix it up.”

“This is like the best -- wait, starting when?”

“I only have a month until I leave, so starting this Sunday.”

“But, I just --”

Stiles doesn’t bother continuing the sentence. There was always a catch; it was something he’d learnt a long time ago. He knows he can’t turn this down, it’s too big an opportunity. He just hopes that Derek will understand when he tells him; except he has no way to. Great.

As they lock up and Chris walks off to his car with a wave, Stiles has an unpleasant thought that dampens the whole afternoon. Did Chris ruin his date on purpose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one week, I surprise even myself!
> 
> Who knew Gerard would be so fond of cruises?


	8. May Day

# Chapter Eight - May Day

## Sunday 1st May

When Stiles turns up at the store on Sunday at midday sharp, he isn’t expecting to see Allison.

“Stiles, what are you doing here?”

He’s just a little nonplussed. She, of all people, should know why he’s here right now; he had after all spent most of the week subtly hinting about how much he wanted to go to the May Day festival whenever she was around, which admittedly had been less than usual.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Unlike you, I work here.”

“Not today.”

The tight smile she’d been forcing swells out into a true and radiant one for a few moments. “Do you ever read your texts?” she says, although she looks thrilled that he hasn’t done so. Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket apologetically.

“The jeep, you know, if I checked my phone at every vibration it’d take four hours to get here.”

She laughs as he lights up the screen to find the text Allison left that’s waiting for him.

**Go to the festival, I’ve dealt with dad x**

He looks up so fast he worries for a moment he has whiplash before noting how ridiculous that sounds, then pulls her in for a hug before she has time to escape his clutches. “You are the absolute best, you know that?” he says into her hair.

“Yes, I’m well aware, Scott tells me every day,” she replies, “now let go and get back in that scrapheap and go meet Derek.” She tries to smile at him, but whatever had lit her up has been doused once more so instead of leaving, he fixes her with his best interrogative frown.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. “It feels like you’ve been a little off all week.”

Her eyes flick left-right so fast most would miss it, a subconscious gesture while she reads whatever lie she’s about to tell off an invisible piece of paper in front of her. Stiles, however, has been brought up by a police officer and there isn’t much he misses when it comes to body language. He’s learnt how to lie over the years, and how to tell when others are doing the same thing.

“Don’t tell me everything’s fine,” he says. “I know something isn’t right, or I wouldn’t ask. Don’t brush me off, Al.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that, it makes me sound like a balding 40-year old man.”

“You get to call me Betty though, I really have the worst end of the deal here,” he replies, before pulling himself up straighter and breathing in extra deep.

“Oh no, no, Stiles please don’t,” she begs, but it’s too late.

“You can call me Betty, and baby when I call you, I can call you Al,” he sings to her as she desperately stuffs her fingers into her ears and laughs raucously, her eyes finally twinkling like they usually do.

“Stick to selling albums, not making them,” she says finally when her laughing subsides. “Those weren’t even the right words.”

“Usually it isn’t Betty singing the song though,” he argues, “so it was perfectly logical to change it up. Anyway, you should hear me karaokeing it up on a Tuesday afternoon over the tannoy. It’s something special.”

“I bet,” she deadpans, “no wonder there’s never any customers.”

“Touche, Miss Argent, touche. Now, you can either tell me what’s wrong, or I will sing to you some more. Which will it be?” he says triumphantly, as if he’s planned the whole thing. She knows he hasn’t though.

“Everything is fine, Stiles! Honestly. I’m just exhausted with college.”

“Everything’s okay with Scott, right?”

“Of course! You think Scott could manage to do something wrong?”

“Good point.” He can’t even work out why he’s worrying about Scott and Allison when they’re both such perfect angels. She’s definitely not telling him everything though, of that he’s sure. Detective Stilinski never gives up on a case, but since he has a date to attend, this means suspending the investigation until further notice.

He gives her one last squeeze on the shoulder before bundling back into his car, his leg almost getting slammed in the door in his haste to get to the preserve. He revs up the engine before leaning out of the window.

“This isn’t over, Al!” he shouts as he reverses out of his space and into the road.

He thinks he hears Allison shouting to tell him again that she hates that nickname, but he can’t be sure.

***

The park is so chock full of amusement rides and food stalls, the cloying sweet smell of candyfloss and popcorn mixing with the less appetising scents from the petting zoo to make a truly awful concoction on first smell, that Stiles isn’t sure how he’s ever supposed to find Derek and Cora.

It turns out that it won’t be nearly as hard as anticipated when he spots them waiting just inside the entrance, after Stiles pays the four dollar entry fee. Cora gives him a friendly hug welcome, while Derek just shakes his hand uncertainly.

“Glad you could make it,” he says.

“I almost couldn’t. Thought I might have to work, but I got it sorted.”

Stiles offers an awkward smile, because this is the first time he’s been around either of them outside of work, at least where they’ve known he was there. He flushes slightly at the thought of how stupid he’d been about it.

“So what are we doing?” he asks.

Cora immediately grabs both their hands and drags them off towards the bumper cars.

“Wow she’s strong,” Stiles exclaims. “I wouldn’t like to make her mad.”

“I can hold my own,” Derek smirks, and Cora twists round to stare him down.

“I’d like to see you try,” she smiles, all teeth and challenge in her tone.

Stiles quickly steers them off that potential wrestle by asking Cora what she does to stay so immensely strong. Krav maga and jujitsu seem to be half the reason, plus regular gym sessions and long runs around Central Park at four in the morning.

“New York must be amazing,” Stiles muses. “I thought Central Park was like a danger zone after dark though.”

“It is,” Derek frowns, “that sounds stupid and dangerous, Cora.”

“Oh please, it’s nowhere near as bad as people make out. The crime rate is down by ninety percent since the eighties, but people continue to insist it’s trouble. Plus, does it sound like I’m a helpless little waif?”

“My friend does jujitsu,” Stiles offers, “plus some other stuff that I can’t remember. She’ll be here in a bit hopefully,” he adds, bringing out his phone to text Scott and see how long they’ll be. As nice as this is, he’s feeling slightly awkward and out of place and that always brings out his worst topics of conversation.

Scott texts back within minutes, but Stiles and Cora are too busy ganging up on Derek on the bumpers to notice. At one point, they both collide with him simultaneously and almost throw him out of the vehicle; the operator gives them a warning glare and they giggle together. Derek frowns at them.

After that, Cora again grabs them both and drags them off to a hot dog stand, where she and Stiles buy a footlong each. They’re piled high with cheese and chilli and ketchup, and Stiles is eyeing his up uncertainly when Cora innocently points out that if he has trouble with it, she’s sure Derek will help him finish it off.

Derek chokes on his drink.

Stiles’s phone buzzes then, and he fishes it out of his pocket to find four missed texts and a missed call. He didn’t think they’d been on the bumpers that long, but apparently it was long enough for Scott to go from buoyant to stern to worried.

**we’re almost there! can’t wait to see you, where are you? x**

**dude we’re here, whereabouts are you? x**

**you need to tell us where you are so we can meet up x**

**have you been kidnapped or something??? text me back!! x**

Stiles is about to fire off a return text when his phone rings in his hand, making him jump and nearly throw the phone onto the condiment splodged table behind them.

“Yo, Scotty! Sorry man, I was on the bumpers with Derek and Cora. We’re at the hot dog stand next to the funhouse, come meet us!”

Stiles prays Derek can’t hear Scott’s filthy response about hot dogs.

“There’s like three different funhouses here by the way,” Cora points out helpfully.

“Oh, hang on, there’s more than one funhouse, this could get awkward. You near the entrance? No? Well go back there, and we’ll meet you there. Who’s with you? Allison, Isaac, Danny and Ethan, cool. See you soon buddy!”

He hangs up, hoping that since he did an info dump for the Hale’s sake that they wouldn’t need to go over it again, and he’s correct in that assumption. They instantly turn and head towards where the entrance was supposed to be, except they seem to have gotten all mixed up from the bumpers and end up beside an abnormally tall corn maze.

Derek puts his head in his hands, and Stiles is about to ring Scott to redirect him when he spies a familiar figure a little way off. “Danny!” he shouts once, twice, until finally Danny turns round far enough to spot him.

“Guys,” he hears Danny call to a group a little way off who all look thankfully familiar.

The gang, as Stiles likes to think of them, are all thrilled to meet Derek and, in Danny’s case, catch up with Cora who he hasn’t seen in nearly three years. “You turned into a babe,” he comments happily, and she smirks and says “I always was.”

They laugh together, and Stiles sees Derek is just standing awkwardly, feeling more out of place by Cora’s easy rapport. “Hey Derek, this is my best bud in the world, Scott, and his girlfriend Allison,” he says, pointing them out as though they aren’t the only two people stood with them, Isaac and Ethan hanging with Danny and Cora.

“Pleased to meet you,” Derek says, affable and polite. Scott smacks him on the shoulder and beams at him, while Allison shyly offers her hand to shake which Stiles finds disconcerting. Her behaviour is even more peculiar than before, because this just isn’t like Allison. She isn’t the shy girl who hangs back and stares at her shoes, not by a long shot, but right now that’s exactly what she’s doing.

“Oh, Cora, this is Allison. She’s the one I was talking about, who does jujitsu and stuff.”

Cora turns and looks her up and down appraisingly before smiling. “We’ll have to square up some time,” she laughs, but Allison doesn’t laugh back, just smiles nervously and leans in closer to Scott. This isn’t going well.

“Hey, tell you what,” Stiles says loud enough for everyone to hear. “Let’s all go in the maze one-by-one, and then if you meet up with someone, you have to stop and have a chat, a get to know you session. And that does not mean trying to go to third base in there, Danny.”

Danny just laughs and nudges Ethan in the side.

A few of the group look hesitant, but Cora and Stiles between them convince everyone to go for it, and in groups of two they go in, Scott and Allison, Danny and Ethan, Cora and Isaac, leaving Stiles and Derek alone for the first time.

“Wait,” Stiles says before they set off in, “in case we somehow lose each other. Give me your phone.”

It wasn’t particularly subtle by any means, but the excuse worked, and within thirty seconds his phone number was in Derek’s phone book. After he gets his phone back, Derek goes to text him but instead stands frowning at the screen like it stole his lollipop as a child.

“You’re not under Stiles,” he accuses.

“Nope, gotta find me,” Stiles grins. “Now put your number in here. Cora’s too.”

Derek obliges and they head into the maze, and as they go to head off in separate directions, Derek places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes slightly. “See you on the other side,” he smiles.

Stiles is still grinning when he bumps into Scott five minutes later.

“How big is this thing?” Scott grouches. “It’s going to go dark before I find my way out.”

“That’s what she said,” Stiles promptly responds. Scott punches him in the arm. “Ow!”

“That was terrible, you deserved it.”

“Whatever. Go find someone else, meanie.”

***

He’s about to admit that this plan wasn’t his best, considering he’s only found one other person and that was Danny who leered at him until he scurried away to the sound of raucous laughter, when he hears shouting from the next row over.

“Don’t fucking apologise to me! It doesn’t make anything alright, understand?”

“I - I didn’t say it did --”

Stiles recognises that voice. Allison.

He tries to make his way round to wherever she is, but it’s almost impossible. Suddenly Derek is in front of him, and he stops in his tracks when he sees him.

“Derek, someone is having a go at Allison, I need to find her --”

Derek’s eyes flare and his eyebrows fly like arrows across his forehead.

“I can’t believe you’re friends with her! Working for them, fine, but being friends with them. Fuck!” he says, and Stiles is so thrown he’s actually speechless, so he just stands and watches Derek barge down the corridor they’re in. Finding a dead end, he forces his way right through the wall leaving shredded husks in his wake.

He takes three more turns to try and find Allison, but instead comes across the exit, where a couple of the others are waiting, Scott and Cora amongst them.

“What the hell is going on?” Stiles demands, not even sure who he’s asking.

“I don’t know,” Scott moans, “but Allison is freaking out in there, I need to go find her.”

Before he can re-enter, Allison appears at the doorway, eyes red and puffy from crying.

“Cora, why was Derek going mental in there?” Stiles asks her seriously. “He broke one of the walls down trying to get away from everyone, definitely not chihuahua behaviour. It was like some other Derek I’ve never known before.”

Her phone vibrates, and she glances at the screen with a sigh.

“He’s gone,” she says. “Broke out of the maze. says he’s going home. I think we need to talk about some things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the -- the fire. And the Argents. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

Stiles felt a tight ball of dread loosen in his stomach and threaten to rise up into his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, more angst. I can't help myself. 
> 
> It all started off so fluffy. Stiles is definitely saved in Allison's phone as Betty, by the way, despite everything she says.


	9. June, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles rushes out to the counter and fiddles with the computer to get back to the database, meaning he doesn’t immediately look up until a painfully familiar voice asks Matt if he’d mind pointing out where to find the classic rock vinyls. His head springs up from the screen and sure enough, Derek is halfway down the main aisle, looking bewildered in one of his usual stopping points.
> 
> “You know, you could always ask me,” Stiles pipes up, a little harsher than he intends. “Matt’s busy at the moment.”

## Tuesday 14th June

Stiles’s phone buzzes insistently on the counter for the third time in the past ten minutes, but by the time Matt shouts through to him about it, it’s silent again. He frowns upon seeing Scott’s name as the missed caller, and rings him back immediately.

“Something happened?” he asks worriedly as soon as Scott picks up.

Scott knows he’s been working flat out now that the Argents were away; apparently Chris’s father had insisted on Allison going along too after she was supposed to be helping Stiles out when she could, so he was going into this with way less of a support system than he’d hoped. Alan, the guy Chris has brought in as relief manager, is nice enough but can’t give clear advice to save his life and also disappears for hours at a time; Stiles feels more like the actual manager than an assistant one.

“Nothing important,” Scott finally replies, “Allison called. Chris is hoping for an update, and I didn’t know the shop number.”

“Everything’s good, busy as always,” Stiles says carefully. “I was just dealing with a delivery, you know Tuesday’s the quietest day so I thought I’d swap it from Thursday which is apparently a lot busier than I anticipated.”

“That Deaton guy was alright with you doing that?” Scott asks.

“I doubt he even noticed,” Stiles responds too quickly, without thinking. “Not that he’s terrible or anything, it’s just been a lot easier to do my own thing than I thought it would be.”

He notices Matt looking over from the stand Stiles has him reorganising; it turned out that Stiles wasn’t the only one who used to just sit around lazily as much as possible, so now each member of staff has tasks to perform beyond just serving customers and he, unlike Chris, is making sure they get done; and quickly moves into the back where he can’t be overheard.

“You’re being a dictator, aren’t you?” Scott laughs. “Just like your dad - best when you’re in charge.”

“I’m being very fair! It isn’t my fault that they’re all relatively useless, I’m still doing way more than the rest of them combined, just making sure they pull their weight. Chris is relying on me to keep this place afloat, I doubt he’d appreciate me sinking his business.”

“I swear I’ve heard you say that at least twice a day since they left,” Scott chuckles down the phone. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled with how well you’re doing.”

Stiles hears the bell ring, meaning a customer has walked in.

“I’ve gotta go Scotty, an actual customer is here and Matt will leave his stand half finished if I don’t get to the counter in the next thirty seconds.”

“I’ll make sure Allison passes on how hard you’re working,” Scott says instead of goodbye, and hangs up.

Stiles rushes out to the counter and fiddles with the computer to get back to the database, meaning he doesn’t immediately look up until a painfully familiar voice asks Matt if he’d mind pointing out where to find the classic rock vinyls. His head springs up from the screen and sure enough, Derek is halfway down the main aisle, looking bewildered in one of his usual stopping points.

“You know, you could always ask me,” Stiles pipes up, a little harsher than he intends. “Matt’s busy at the moment.”

“Oh,” Derek says, eyes widening, “I didn’t know you were here,” and Stiles gets the distinct feeling that Derek only came in for that exact reason. This is the first time Derek has been in the store since the incident at the festival, in fact it’s the first bit of evidence that Derek hadn’t picked up sticks and moved away. Matt raises a quizzical eyebrow at Stiles, but seeing the sour look on his face quickly turns away and starts filing a pile of records.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Stiles says, carefully and politely, reminding himself of the day he saw Derek and Chris do the exact same thing. He feels momentarily sad at that, knowing now what he didn’t then, but it isn’t as simple as that so he pulls his focus back and stands next to Derek. “How’s Cora?”

“She’s back in New York, as you know,” Derek answers quietly.

Stiles does know; he’s seen Cora several times since that day, the first being the day after when she forced him to invite her to coffee and she told him all about the Hales and the Argents and the fire; Allison’s aunt, scorned and vengeful after Derek’s father fired her, preying on Derek and abusing his trust and then setting their house ablaze, killing their parents and two of their brothers.

Stiles had been appalled and empathetic, but Cora had agreed with him when he told her that he couldn’t forgive Derek for acting that way towards his best friend’s girlfriend who was also his boss’s daughter and a good friend in her own right. It was probably why Allison had been made to go on the cruise, Stiles had privately thought.

“She misses your Friday lunches,” Derek adds, unsurety stretched across his face.

“So do I,” Stiles agrees.

“Stiles,” Derek says imploringly, his resolve broken for a moment. But whatever he wants to say doesn’t come out. “What happened to the layout in this place?” he asks instead.

“Chris left me partially in charge while his family are on vacation,” Stiles answers, perhaps emphasising ‘his family’ a little too much but he’s still mad, “and I remembered something your sister told me the first time she came in here, how it takes all the fun out of it when they’re alphabetised.”

The little crinkle of Derek’s eyes, physically pained at the thought of randomness, makes him smile involuntarily.

“So I spent my day off completely changing the layout. He’ll probably kill me but so far, sales are up, which is what he wants. Plus the big artists of each genre still have their own sections so it’s not a complete hodgepodge,” Stiles finishes, wondering why on earth he just used the word hodgepodge.

“You did all this yourself, in one day?” Derek asks incredulously.

“Sure did,” Stiles replies happily.

“Impressive.”

For a minute Stiles thinks that he can just continue this, act as if nothing happened, get back in their old routine; although did what they’d had before count as routine? A few snarky and flirty conversations probably didn’t. But then he remembers where he is, the opportunity the Argents have given him, and the hurt Derek caused them because of someone whose behaviour they had never come close to condoning.

“Anyway, now you know. I have stock to sort in the back, if you need serving make sure to ask Matt,” he says coldly and walks away before Derek can say something, anything, to make him stay.

He doesn’t actually deal with the stock though, just listens as Matt makes his way to the counter and says a few words to Derek, who has obviously decided to buy something despite his frosty reception. Hearing Matt’s footsteps towards the manager’s room, he fumbles a box open quickly, but not quickly enough.

“Thought you’d like to know he’s gone now,” Matt says over the bell chime.

“Thanks,” Stiles bites out, “is your display finished yet?”

Matt takes the hint and stalks away, leaving Stiles to his own devices. He manages, after a few aborted attempts, to get into a rhythm of adding stock to the database in groups of ten, giving the job enough variety that he doesn’t notice the last remaining hours of the day pass by.

Deaton comes back half an hour before closing and begins his usual managerial tasks, unfortunately allowing Stiles a break in which his thoughts go tumbling straight back to his earlier altercation. Had he been too harsh, he thought. Derek had damaged their friendship, true, but maybe he’d been easing himself back into conversation so that he could apologise, and Stiles had shut him down before he could even try.

***

He ends up staying far too late, too distracted to notice the time; so when Deaton politely informs him that it was time for him to lock up and that Stiles should probably leave and go home, he can barely muster a thanks before heading out the door.

He’s trying to get his head straight, to tell himself that he’s done the right thing; maybe he would forgive Derek in time, but he couldn’t waltz up after a month and a half of silence and expect the pieces to fall back into the same shape as before.

Stiles reaches his car still in a daze, and fumbles his keys to open the door; as he does so, something touches his shoulder.

Instinctively he balls his fist up and throws his arm behind himself, feeling the connection with someone’s face and a shout of pain. The hand grips tighter on his shoulder, so he kicks back into his attacker’s shin three times before the hand loosens. Still panicked, he flings the jeep door open with a final elbow thrust back into what he presumed was the chest of the person trying to get the keys to rob the record shop.

He springs into the seat, his fingers crashing against the steering wheel as he revs the engine, pulling away from the kerb with his door still open; he closes the door and clicks on his seatbelt in one fluid motion he wouldn't normally be capable of. Stiles is shaking, and his breathing is dangerously close to giving out on him completely.

Rounding the corner, Stiles pulls over. He counts his breaths, one two three, forcing himself back into a rhythm like he had done earlier in the day, giving himself the control he needed if he was going to get home and freak out at Scott down the phone.

He doesn’t know how long he ends up sitting there before he feels okay to drive again. He speeds home, torn between driving carefully and making it back before the bubbling sensation of anxiety in his chest burst, eventually deciding on the latter.

***

Scott is sympathetic as expected, wanting to know every detail, proud of his friend for defending himself enough to escape and not attempting anything beyond that.

“I’ll warn Chris that someone tried to break into the shop,” he says reassuringly, but Stiles vehemently disagrees.

“I don’t want him thinking that I can’t handle this,” he sputters. “Nothing happened, not really. It was probably a one off thing, nothing to worry him with.” He can feel Scott’s frown even if he can’t see it. “Honestly. I’m fine, just a bit shook up. I handled it, don’t get everyone involved Scotty, please.”

“Okay dude, if you’re sure,” Scott acquiesces.

“I’m sure,” Stiles says. “My dad will be back any time, I need to go start dinner. Catch up tomorrow.”

“Sure thing,” Scott replies, and the call disconnects.

He’s about to walk downstairs when a text he received during his phone call with Scott flashes up again. It’s Cora, probably fishing for information about Derek coming into the shop today. But the text doesn’t say what he expects.

**i know you’re mad at derek babe, but no need to beat the crap out of him lol! x**

He frowns at his phone, fires out a quick **what?** in response.

He’s halfway through throwing together a Hamburger Helper beef stroganoff when she finally replies. His dad is the one who sees the text first, since his phone is out on the counter. The sheriff passes the phone to him with a frown.

“What exactly happened at work today?” he enquires in his best “don’t you dare lie to me” tone.

Stiles looks at his phone and his stomach drops.

**derek said he came to talk to you after work and you gave him a black eye? think you both owe each other an apology now hahaha x**

“I, erm… I don’t even know,” Stiles says flatly. His dad’s expression changes, more concerned now than annoyed. “I thought someone was trying to rob the store after work, but it was actually someone I know.”

His dad says nothing, just puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I appear to have messed up big time,” Stiles says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unintended hiatus is finally over! 
> 
> Only took me several months to work out where to go from where I left things, and if anyone was hoping for a quick resolution, sorry! Be comforted with the fact I know where I'm going with this now, and hopefully updates will be on the regular from here on out.


	10. June, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good to know,” Derek answers in a voice that suggests the complete opposite. “Glad we got that cleared up.”  
> “Hey, whoa, I apologised, what’s the deal with the voice?”  
> “Nothing, I suppose I should be grateful you’ve apologised for anything at all.”  
> “Hang on,” Stiles counters, his voice rising in volume to match his temper which was flaring massively from Derek’s dismissiveness, “what exactly should I be apologising for, if giving you a black eye is apparently instantly forgivable?”

## Saturday 18th June

The Argents had finally gotten back from their cruise the night before, so Stiles finds himself waking up bleary-eyed at seven in the morning for nothing since it’s his first full day off in weeks that won’t be interrupted by one of his co-workers asking for help. That would have invariably led to him having to go down to the store to fix the problem and while that had been great in some ways - a distraction from his Derek situation - it also meant that he had absolutely no idea what to actually do with himself right now.

He’s spent the last few days wanting to text Derek and apologise for punching him in the face, except of course he’d never actually gotten Derek’s number, just given his own out and expected it to be used; it hadn’t. He’s been too proud to text Cora and ask for it even though she would probably give it to him, but at the same time he just can’t stand the way things are any longer. It probably wouldn’t feel like such a problem to Stiles if it wasn’t for Cora either; his friendship with her makes staying this way with Derek permanently impossible, because there’s going to come a day when they all have to spend time together and Stiles can’t be rude and dismissive about him in front of her.

So it’s time to bring this whole situation to a head.

Even though he already knows the address, he still flicks through the book and finds it again like it might have vanished from the pages and spared him doing this. But it’s there, and he reads it aloud to himself, repeats it like an incantation all the way to the car because if he breaks the spell he won’t go to the right place, he knows it.

The drive isn’t as short as he’d like, and he sits in the car for a while, considers just driving away and waiting for a better time because it’s still barely eight in the morning until he notices that Derek’s CD is still in his stereo, the volume so quiet he hadn’t noticed the music over the sounds of his jeep. A guy’s singing “ _yeah I know you’re no angel, but I’m stuck for friends_ ” and it’s a line Stiles hasn’t noticed before, but now it seems to give away a lot more of Derek.

Were they friends though, he wondered. They spoke, they occasionally flirted or at least Stiles thought they did; they’d gotten to a place where they met up outside of Stiles’s work for the first time and then gone right back to the start, so did any of that actually mean they were friends.

Probably not, but if Derek was stuck for friends then he’d have to try and hash this out one way or the other. They could be friends, or they could be a customer and an employee. Two choices, no more shades of grey.

***

Stiles had to admit he was impressed with his own perseverance by actually driving back to Derek’s place after deciding eight o’clock was slightly too early for a confrontation instead of bolting home, metaphorical tail between legs, after heading to the nearest café for a hot chocolate and croissant.

Okay, maybe he had been putting it off, he privately admitted as he got out of the car, but he hadn’t got any idea of what he was going to say, much less what Derek might say in return. Not that he has any more of an idea now, but at least he’s had some sugar.

It takes a minute for Derek to answer the door after Stiles knocks, and that’s plenty of time for him to discard the idea of hoping he can get back in the jeep and away in time for Derek to think it’s a strange knock-a-door-run situation, although he’s actually still thinking about it when the door opens.

Derek’s wearing plaid pyjama pants and a moth-eaten T-shirt with half the collar ripped, and Stiles almost makes a noise because he is weak to this, so incredibly weak. For the briefest millisecond he wonders if Derek saw him arrive and has dressed like this purposefully to gain the advantage, but the confused frown he’s given shows that to be untrue.

“Can I come in?” Stiles says brusquely, determined to give off an air of annoyance despite everything.

“I guess,” Derek replies with a small yawn, “as long as I don’t need to stick a motorbike helmet on first.”

Derek’s attire had temporarily driven Stiles to insanity, so he figures it’s only fair that he hadn’t noticed the purplish bruise under Derek’s right eye, but now that he has he immediately feels guilty. He steps inside and stands awkwardly in the hallway.

Derek shows him through to the living room and Stiles perches on the end of a sofa, waiting for Derek to sit somewhere, but he doesn’t. He just stands in front of Stiles so that Stiles’s eyeline is directly onto the ripped hem of Derek’s shirt, meaning he has to clear his throat before he can speak.

“I wasn’t sure how to get hold of you,” he says, “and I didn’t know when I’d see you in the shop, so I… came to apologise.” He forces himself to look up at Derek, whose frown disappears and lip twitches, but Stiles still feels the need to give him an explanation. “My dad’s kind of drilled into me about self-defence and everything, so when you grabbed my shoulder I just acted out of instinct. I didn’t want you to think I knew it was you, I swear I didn’t have a clue!”

Derek’s expression hardens again, and Stiles is confused.

“But if you knew it was me, would that have changed anything?” Derek asks in a hostile tone.

“No! I mean yes! I think. Yes. I wouldn’t have hit you if I’d known it was you, I’m not an idiot.”

“Good to know,” Derek answers in a voice that suggests the complete opposite. “Glad we got that cleared up.”

“Hey, whoa, I apologised, what’s the deal with the voice?”

“Nothing, I suppose I should be grateful you’ve apologised for anything at all.”

“Hang on,” Stiles counters, his voice rising in volume to match his temper which was flaring massively from Derek’s dismissiveness, “what exactly should I be apologising for, if giving you a black eye is apparently instantly forgivable?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the way you were acting the other day?”

“The way I - the way I was acting was perfectly reasonable considering I hadn’t heard a single thing from you in over a month after you verbally abused one of my friends then stormed away and left your sister to pick up the pieces!” Stiles shouts, standing up and stepping back, away from Derek.

“Oh yes, and you rushed to find out what the deal was, didn’t you? You can waltz up to my door on a Saturday morning now, but you couldn’t do that when it all happened,” Derek retorts. “Do I regret what happened that day? Yes, I do, immensely. Did I have the courage to come find you and explain? No, I didn’t, but I shouldn’t have had to. If you were at all interested, you could have done exactly what you’ve done now, and you didn’t.”

“Cora told me everything,” Stiles says, “so I left it, figured you’d talk to me when you were ready.”

“You think i’m ever ready to discuss something like that?” Derek spat. “I never - it’s not exactly a nice conversation.” He sighs and Stiles can see his expression drop entirely, nothing but pain etched on his face for that moment. Derek sits down on the adjacent sofa and Stiles slowly goes back to his perch.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says finally, although he isn’t a hundred percent sure that he is truly sorry yet. But the look he’d just seen on Derek’s face made it clear that he would be at some point, and he didn’t want to say it too late. “I wasn’t really thinking, I was just reacting.”

“I’m sorry too,” Derek responds. “I should never have acted the way I did, and I probably should have sent you a text just so you could actually get in contact. Cora swore she wasn’t going to mediate,” he chuckled glumly. “I really fucked this up, didn’t I?”

“Fucked what up?” Stiles asks, because it seems like the only time he’ll have an excuse to ask what exactly ‘this’ is.

“This, this -- oh I don’t know what it is.”

Great, Stiles thinks. Perfect.

“Friendship?” he offers.

“Friendship,” Derek repeats, “Whatever else. I didn’t really know…” He trails off, and Stiles can see his cheeks turning pink. “I like you, and I’m sorry I acted terribly. I just -- the Argents. I shouldn’t hate them.”

“But you go in their shop every week without fail?” Stiles asks, confused. “Well, almost without fail.”

“I didn’t know they owned it until that day Chris was there. When I realised… I wanted to just smash up the shop but I couldn’t really do that so I just did what I had to and left. I thought you just worked there so it didn’t bother me,” he shrugs, as if answering a question Stiles hasn’t asked.

“Does it now?”

Derek ponders the question for a moment. “I can try not to let it?” he offers finally.

“I’ll accept that,” Stiles says. “Just don’t pull that shit again.”

“As long as you don’t pull your hostile bullshit on me,” Derek counters.

“As long you don’t pull _yours_ on _me_ ,” Stiles argues.

“Fine,” Derek agrees. “No more hostile bullshit from anyone.”

“Agreed,” Stiles says, holding out his hand. Derek shakes it, and the whole thing suddenly feels like a business deal. Stiles fails to control his laughter. Eventually, after he’s explained himself, Derek joins in until Stiles’s phone starts ringing and abruptly the laughter stops.

“Speak of the devil,” Stiles mutters before answering the phone, “hi Chris, what’s u-- well you see I -- uh huh, but you know -- okay okay, I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

He quickly hangs up before Chris can say anything else and pulls a face at Derek.

“Raincheck on the whole sorting out our issues thing?” he asks. “Only Chris would like some explanations about my little renovation deal on the record shop, so I need to go make sure I still have a job, and also stop him changing it back because otherwise I’ll be pissed.”

Derek smiles and says it’s fine, so he heads out the door then suddenly turns back round and bumps into Derek, who he didn’t notice was walking right behind him. “For the love of god, give me your number while I remember!” he exclaims, thrusting his phone out at Derek, who obligingly takes it and enters his number.

“Now we don’t have to limit our conversations to once every two months,” Stiles snarks.

“Just once a month,” Derek smiles back, and Stiles laughs despite himself.

He finds himself smiling all the way back to his car, and half of the drive to the store. It’s only when he considers how much trouble he might be in that he stops, and it’s then that doubts begin to creep in about what just transpired; because how much stuff did they actually sort out? Sure, they apologised, Stiles thinks, but did they actually come get to the point of why they were both angry? Stiles wasn’t sure he had, and he was about to walk headfirst into his second battle of the morning.

He pulled up into the same spot as when he’d wrongfully thought he was being mugged, and smiled.

If he could punch Derek Hale in the face and live to tell the tale, he could deal with this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Now that's out of the way, it's onwards to happier times!


	11. June, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though all he wants to do is go home and go to bed, he’s an absolute sucker for puppy dog eyes, something Scott has used against him many, many times. “How about,” he starts, and Derek’s eyes flick towards his with a golden flash of excitement. Can’t stop now, he thinks. “How about I come round to yours instead? We can order food in or something. I need to celebrate my promotion, after all.”

## Tuesday 21st June

Eight am, a time Stiles had hoped he wouldn’t have to see again for quite some time. Keys in hand, he opens up the back, turns off the alarm and counts money to place in the till for whoever was working the morning shift. As he flicks rhythmically through the dollar notes, he reflects on this, his first day as assistant manager.

Saturday had been a long ass day. When he’d gotten to the store, Chris had been waiting for him with a purposefully neutral frown on his face until the moment he opened his mouth and the argument began. That he’d managed to still have a job at the end of it was insane enough; the promotion was practically a miracle.

Stiles had stormed into the back, produced all kinds of figures on pieces of paper that proved his rearrangement of the stock had improved sales; proved his complete rejig of the database had uncovered over five hundred erroneous entries that had been pulling sales down even further than they actually were; and that staff morale was up thanks to the addition of a stereo system that staff could choose music for during their shift, excluding anything too profane.

Finally, Chris had relented, rang Deaton and had Stiles’s work ethic described to him in glowing terms - and then told him Tuesday was now his responsibility entirely, gave him a raise and a new job title. Supervisor.

The next day, he rang up and informed him that after a discussion with Deaton, he was being promoted again to relief manager.

Yesterday, he rang up again. And now here he was, assistant manager of the store, with Tuesdays and Thursdays his solo days, plus Friday and Saturday as assistant. The place had never actually had an assistant manager before, so Stiles had no clue what that part of the job would actually entail, but more hours and more money weren’t to be sniffed at.

He sets up for opening at nine and then spends fifteen minutes panicking that it had all been done far too quickly and therefore he must have missed something really obvious. Thankfully, the rather obvious thing he missed was unlocking the front door, which he realises when he glances up from his already worn out checklist to see Matt stood forlornly outside.

“Shit, shit sorry,” he says as he opens the door and Matt strides past him.

“What are you doing here?” Matt asks instead of accepting the apology, which is just typical of him. “I thought Chris was back already.” The tone of his voice clearly states that he wanted to go back to the status quo quick stat.

“He is,” Stiles replies. “But Deaton decided to give up being relief manager, and so here I am.”

“But Chris is back,” Matt pouts. “So we don’t need a relief manager.”

“Chris decided to change the job description a bit when he gave me the job. Go check the till before we open, there’s less than five minutes and I want everything going smoothly today.”

“So you’re like, my boss now?” Matt scowls, not moving an inch.

Stiles equals his scowl. “If you have a problem with it, talk to Chris. But go check your till so I don’t have to tell him you wouldn’t do as I asked.”

To his relief, Matt just walks away but Stiles can tell he’s seething. It’s stupid because Matt worked great when Chris was away, but obviously his promotion becoming permanent has pissed him off somehow. He doesn’t have time to think about it though, because it’s opening time and there’s a delivery to prepare for in an hour.

***

By the time three o’clock rolls around, Stiles has completely forgotten what day it is because Matt is being an ultimate asshole, so when Stiles looks up as Derek walks in, he gives him a small smile before immediately going back to tearing Matt a new one.

“Look, if you’re not gonna do this correctly, then just go sort stock and I’ll do it.”

“Are you saying I’m bad at my job?”

“I’m asking you to go sort stock.”

“I can’t, there’s a customer,” Matt smirks, inclining his head towards Derek. “I’m required to be available at the till when there’s a customer. You said so yourself earlier.”

Stiles wants to smash his head through the computer screen, but suspects that wouldn’t work in his favour when he makes a case about Matt to Chris next time he sees him. It was true that he’d said that, but it had been because Matt was blatantly ignoring customers waiting at the checkout desk while Stiles had been looking through the delivery. He tried not to stomp over towards Derek, but walk smoothly and politely.

He failed.

“Bad day?” Derek asks, wearing his usual frown differently. Concern, not annoyance. It helps Stiles feel a little bit better. “I see the place isn’t back to normal,” he adds, looking around the aisles.

“Don’t think I didn’t fight for it,” Stiles says. “For hours, in fact. But I got myself this swanky new job which is going just wonderfully, as you can see.”

“I did wonder why he was here,” Derek says in a low voice, so Matt can’t overhear despite his obvious trying to. “I was hoping that would be back to normal too.”

“What do you mean too?” Stiles immediately retorts.

Derek shrugs defensively. “I don’t like change much.”

“Sorry. I have a bit of a quick temper today,” Stiles replies with a barely perceptible nod in Matt’s direction.

“I understand.”

“Did you want something? I accidentally confined Matt to till bitch while you’re here, so I’m at your service.”

Derek actually goes a little bit red, and Stiles works back through his sentence until he realises.

_Oh._

“I actually wondered what time you got off. Work. I, erm…”

Derek trails off and goes even redder, which is so weird to Stiles that he completely blanks on any kind of comment to keep this conversation going, and just meaninglessly shuffles some records in his hands. An inner sleeve falls out of one onto the floor, and they both bend downwards at the same time to pick it up. Their heads connect.

Stiles ignores Matt’s snickering from behind him as he grabs it and leans back up, squinting through the pain in his skull. It seems to have knocked Derek out of his embarrassed stupor, because he immediately apologises and grabs Stiles’s head, checking for injuries.

“Thank god. I’m sorry. I was just trying --”

“I know, it’s fine, don’t worry --”

“--to be helpful. Anyway, are you free tonight? Some plans fell through and I’d gotten kind of used to the idea of going out tonight and like I said, I’m not a fan of things changing suddenly so I thought about how we’re friends now.”

Derek paused and Stiles wasn’t sure if he was supposed to reply because that didn’t seem to be the end of the explanation. “We are,” he offers eventually, hoping for a continuation. He strikes lucky.

“But we haven’t really ever met up outside this shop when you’re working and we can’t talk properly. The only couple of times haven’t exactly gone well,” Derek says with an apologetic grimace. Stiles shouldn’t find it cute because Derek is not a ‘cute’ person generally, but his flustered yammering and scrunched up face couldn’t be described any other way. Which makes what he’s about to say so much worse.

“I can’t. I don’t finish until about seven, by which point I’ll have been up thirteen hours already. I will be absolutely no fun whatsoever if I have to get all dressed up or do anything even slightly physical.”

That didn’t quite sound right.

“Like walking,” he adds. What a save, he thinks sarcastically.

Derek looks defeated and sad, and Stiles finds himself recalling telling Cora how he was a chihuahua in wolf’s clothing. Right now, he’s like a chihuahua puppy in wolf’s clothing, which is so much worse.

Even though all he wants to do is go home and go to bed, he’s an absolute sucker for puppy dog eyes, something Scott has used against him many, many times. “How about,” he starts, and Derek’s eyes flick towards his with a golden flash of excitement. Can’t stop now, he thinks. “How about I come round to yours instead? We can order food in or something. I need to celebrate my promotion, after all.”

Stiles is a little put out that Derek actually stops to think it over before agreeing. He should be dying to spend more time with me, he pouts, before it dawns on him that it’s actually him dying to spend more time with Derek. Lingering issues aside, they were a pretty good match and Stiles was willing to look past the bad moments finally and give Derek a chance. So he almost sighed audibly when Derek said it sounded like a great plan.

“I’ll come straight from here, if that’s okay?” Stiles asks.

“You’ve been to my place before,” Derek reminds him. “I haven’t introduced a dress code in the past three days,” he smirks.

“Thank god. I don’t own a leather jacket; I’d never get in,” Stiles deadpans.

“Stiles, I think the database has crashed,” Matt shouts over with an almost gleeful expression, and Stiles instantly knows that Matt caused it and that he won’t find any proof. He curses and sees Derek’s eyes widen.

“Sorry. See you tonight,” he says, doing his best to smile sincerely while he considers murder.

“See you tonight,” Derek replies with a smile. It becomes his armour as he walks over to the desk, gritting his teeth in preparation for yet another battle.

***

The way he knocks on the door is probably a little too angry, but he is angry, so there isn’t much he can do to stop it. When Derek answers the door, he actually flinches a little at the look on Stiles’s face.

“What happened?”

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Stiles spits out before throwing his hands out and forcing himself to breathe. “Okay, that sounded crazy sarcastic. I’m sorry. Matt was such a dick after you left and he basically refused to do any of the closing up, which meant I had to do it all and then do all the stuff I should have done while he was closing up.”

“I was a bit worried when it got past eight,” Derek admits. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Fortunately, I was promoted enough that I could give him a warning for all his behaviour. He’ll probably challenge it with Chris, but I can get to Chris first,” he explains as Derek invites him in. “But yeah, I’m sorry I’m so late,” he says as he sits down in the same place as Saturday morning, “he only did it because he knew I was coming here, I know it. Dude’s got it out for me all of a sudden.”

“He’s probably jealous.”

“That I’m coming here? I’ve never gotten a bi vibe from him, he seems to be a one-woman man even though she’s going out with my best friend.”

“That you got promoted,” Derek laughs, “although there’s no need to sound so surprised that it could be about me. I do have feelings, you know.”

“Sorry. I keep saying that today, sorry. Oh my god, okay, I’ll stop now,” Stiles replies, clamping a hand over his mouth. “What’s the plan?” he mumbles through his fingers.

“I cooked,” Derek says, and Stiles almost immediately apologises for ruining the meal. “You said you’d stop,” Derek chides him, “and anyway, it’s just chilli. It’ll take ten minutes to warm through again, relax.I didn’t make it too spicy just in case.”

“I can handle my spice,” Stiles states confidently.

When they get round to eating, his eyes water slightly through the whole meal.

“I dread to think what your spicy chilli is like,” he coughs out afterwards. “You got a drink I can cool down with.”

Derek smirks at him. “I would apologise, but I think you’ve done enough of that for the both of us. Beer okay?”

“Fine, but I can only have one. Gotta drive home.”

Derek flicks on a CD player and Gotye begins to play as he walks to the kitchen. By the time he comes back, the song has changed to a fun. song and Stiles is frowning. “What is it?” Derek asks worriedly.

“I don’t think I get you,” Stiles says.

“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” Stiles turns to look at Derek as he speaks. “We don’t know each other that well, so you’re here so we can work each other out. Stop ourselves getting our wires crossed again.”

“I guess,” Stiles says, remaining unconvinced. “It’s just… this might sound crazy, but usually I can tell how someone is from what they buy. Music is important, you know? Almost everyone loves it in one way or another, and you can find out so much from what someone thinks is the greatest song in the world and what someone will only admit to loving after ten beers.”

“You’re really diving in at the heavy end of the conversation pool,” Derek smiles, “but I don’t really know where all this has come from.”

“You buy Van Halen vinyls,” Stiles points out, “but the CD you gave me had Bjork and Weezer and Smashing Pumpkins on it. And you’re listening to fun. and Gotye!. None of it fits what you buy and it’s very confusing,” he finishes, sounding far more upset than he means to because Derek is tearing apart one of his most tried and tested methods for judging people.

Derek has a strange look on his face.

“There’s something you should see,” he says finally, like he’s been wrestling with whether to share whatever ‘it’ is. He takes Stiles’s hand and leads him up the stairs, Stiles feeling just a little giddy and nervous at being taken upstairs, having his hand held, and the general weirdness of whatever was going on here.

Derek takes him into what his bedroom, and Stiles looks around at the pale green walls and framed pictures of forests. “I took them myself,” Derek says when he sees Stiles looking at one in particular; he recognised it as the preserve just outside town. “Sit down.”

Stiles perches uncomfortably on the edge of the bed; not because the mattress was uncomfortable, if anything it was too comfortable and he longed to just lie down and fall asleep, but because this was Derek’s bed and he was sat on it. He felt fourteen again, sitting on a crush’s bed who he felt was way out of his league, only this time they were actually interested.

Something heavy hits the bed behind him and he almost falls over. He turns round and quickly grabs on, hoping the movement to save himself wasn’t too obvious.

“ _That’s_ what you wanted me to see?”

He didn’t mean for it to sound so incredulous, but Derek had placed the tattiest box he’d maybe ever seen on the bed. The corners were all worn away, there was a large slash down one side from a knife of some kind, and a large portion of it seemed lightly singed.

Suddenly that detail seemed incredibly important.

“Is that --” he starts, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“My mum grew up in the eighties,” Derek says. “She was, I suppose what you’d call a rock chick; always at gigs, following bands round like a groupie. When she met my dad she settled down a lot, but she still loved the music. She loved to collect it.” He takes a deep swallow, as if to ground himself from floating away in his memories. “This was one of the few things that was undamaged after it happened. It seemed significant, I guess, that it survived. Important. So I carried on collecting it. For her.”

Derek’s eyes had been pointedly looking down at the box but now he met Stiles’s eyes. There was a shine to them, but nothing like the excitement of earlier was evident in his gaze. Stiles got lost in the blackness of the centers.

“You were right, in a strange way,” Derek says, still looking into his eyes. “Music is important. It keeps her alive, somehow, doing this for her. I never told anyone I had it, but when Cora was here she brought the stuff you’d bought in for me. Told me some of what you’d told her about me; she said I was crazy for acting like that when you’d been so nice. I guess she knew I was just doing it because I was scared of liking you, really.”

Stiles is still in a daze.

“This is -- wow,” he says. “I feel like such an ass.”

“Why?” Derek asks, surprised.

“I made fun of you buying this stuff and now I find out you’re honouring your dead mother. In fact, every time I thought you were a typical douchebag there’s been some incredibly painful reason behind it and I’ve looked like the douchebag. Why do you even want me here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Derek says, and kisses him.

Stiles kisses back, first out of instinct and then because Derek’s lips are warm and he’s a damn good kisser. He doesn’t even know how long they stay like that, each kiss increasing in intensity until Derek is practically pressing him into the bed, hands either side of his stomach, his lips colliding with Stiles’s insistently, longingly.

“You think I go around calling everyone tiger?” Derek laughs into his mouth during a brief pause.

“I sure hope you don’t,” Stiles replies seriously.

“Believe me,” Derek answers. “I don’t.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress! The end is now somewhere vaguely on the horizon instead of being a thousand leagues away.


	12. June, Part IV

## Wednesday 22nd June

Stiles’s alarm goes off and he tries to throw out his hand to stop it, but two things stop him: there’s something weighing him down, stopping him from reaching over far enough, and when he looks there isn’t actually an alarm clock there. The first word that comes to his mind is that this is all quite alarming. He hates himself.

Gingerly he shifts his head round, taking in the white ceiling, the mint green wall flecked across the coving; someone obviously hadn’t done a perfect job of masking lines out when they painted this room. The likely culprit shifted slightly next to him as everything came back in a rush.

Last night.

Kissing Derek. Doing way more than just kissing Derek.

An experimental wiggle shows him that he’s not wearing anything right now.

“Nnnngh.”

Oh god, now he can’t even slip away to the en-suite to get dressed because Derek is stirring and Stiles wonders for a brief moment if he’s naked too. He beats down the thought as he attempts to extricate himself from under Derek’s arm, but the touch of his fingers as they run along Derek’s forearm is enough to wake him.

Stiles hears him say his name softly, and when he looks over Derek is smiling.

“Hey,” he says helplessly, because the little smirk playing across Derek’s face is what he can only describe as adorable, much as he loathes the thought of it, then realises he has absolutely nothing sensible to say to follow it up. He can’t exactly says “How’s it going?” or ask for breakfast, and they’re the only two things his brain can think of to say.

“Hey,” Derek replies. “You want breakfast?”

A little knot inside his stomach loosens.

“Sure.”

He finds out the answer to his question moments later, as Derek pulls back the covers and hauls himself into a sitting position before standing up, entirely naked. It isn’t entirely fair that Derek actually manages to look so damn good minutes after waking up, dishevelled hair and perfect ass and back muscles; a multitude of distractions.

Derek pulls on boxers and turns round, a good-natured expression on his face. “You ever getting out of that bed?” he asks. “Or do I have to bring the breakfast to you?”

Stiles averts his eyes down to the floor where he can see the band of his underwear poking out from under his jeans. Derek follows his gaze. “After last night, I’d say I’m pretty well acquainted with what’s under those. No need to hide under the sheets until I’m gone. Plus,” he adds, “I’d probably never remember your order, so you’ll have to come with me.”

“To the kitchen?” Stiles frowns, climbing out of the bed as quickly as possible and flicking his jeans out of the way, hoping to engage Derek in enough conversation so he can throw on some clothes before he gets a good look. It was pretty dark last night, and Stiles doesn’t want his comparative inferiority highlighted any longer than necessary.

Derek’s hand is suddenly on his ass. “To the café round the corner,” he corrects Stiles as he squeezes. “I cooked last night, I’m not spoiling you that much.” Stiles laughs despite himself. “Although,” Derek considers, “if we stayed here you could stay like this, definitely an advantage.”

Stiles struggles to pull his underwear up as Derek hugs him from behind, then turns him round so they’re facing each other.

“What’s the problem?” he frowns.

“Nothing. I’m just -- it’s still kinda crazy that you’re even interested in me. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that I am very much not unattractive,” Stiles clarifies, “but compared to you -- you’re in a whole other league.”

“Why does it matter?” Derek responds. “Surely all that counts is what I think of you, not people who’ll see us walking down the street, which is definitely what you’re thinking.” Stiles flushes red as a response, because Derek is absolutely right.

Stiles says so, and Derek smiles. “No more of that shit, okay?”

“Okay.”

Derek gives his ass a playful slap before leaving him to get dressed while he does the same, then together they head out the door. “We’ll walk there,” he says, “it isn’t far.”

***

The café isn’t just a Starbucks like Stiles expects, but a hokey little family-run job with 50’s style diner booths and an impressive array of specialty coffees. Regardless, Stiles orders a hot chocolate with his pancakes; Derek goes for a hazelnut latte and bacon omelette.

Halfway through the meal, Stiles has an epiphany.

“You said people will see us walking down the street,” he says around a mouthful of pancake.

“Yeah,” Derek replies, confused.

“So you can see us doing that?”

“Can’t you?”

“Oh, I can, I absolutely can,” Stiles exclaims, almost knocking the sauce bottles off the table as he rushes his hand over to rest on top of Derek’s. “I just thought I was getting way ahead of myself thinking this wasn’t just me and you, that it was an us.”

“You’re not,” Derek affirms with a smile, and Stiles can’t understand why he ever thought Derek was a miserable asshole when he seems to smile all the damn time. He isn’t one for cheesy romance and declarations of love, and while he doesn’t envisage that happening immediately, he can definitely see it in his future.

In _their_ future.

So of course he immediately thinks of complications.

“What about the Argents?” he asks with trepidation. “Things aren’t exactly on good terms there, and I work for them and I’m friends with Allison. I know you said you’d try,” he cuts off Derek before he can argue, “but this changes things a little.”

Derek appears to mull things over while he eats in silence for a few minutes, and the tension must be starting to show on Stiles’s face when Derek looks up, because he immediately elucidates his thoughts.

“It’s not gonna be easy,” he admits. “I don’t blame them but, I don’t trust them either. But you’re right, I can’t put off building a bridge any longer. This is too important to me to fuck it up again,” he says, and Stiles feels a little flush of happiness hit his cheeks which he immediately hates himself for having.

Grow up, he chides himself, you are better than this nonsense.

“I haven’t seen Scott in a couple of days,” he says, “so I’m majorly overdue a visit. He’s probably with Allison so I can talk to them, tell them about us. Navigate whatever murky waters may show on the horizon from there.” He smiles. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, I just wanted to make sure before...”

“Before you committed.”

“Before I committed.”

There’s a silence then, but it’s comfortable and interjected by the coffee machine hissing out foam and car engines humming past the window front. “What about your job?” Derek asks, breaking it.

“What about it?”

“You work for Chris, he could make things difficult for you.”

Stiles waves away his concerns with a shake of his hand. “I just got a major promotion, and he knows you come in the store all the time anyway. If he tries to give me any shit he’ll regret it, I can break pretty much everything in there and he’d never be able to prove it.” He knows he’s smiling; a smug, proud grin, but he doesn’t care because he knows he’s awesome at his job and that it’s safe, even though he had privately worried about it less than half an hour earlier.

“I need to go deal with Matt’s drama from yesterday anyway, so I can casually bring it up in conversation and see how he takes the news if it’ll make you happy,” he amends, noting the worried frown still on Derek’s face. Derek nods his assent.

They talk about nothing as their drinks go cold, and have a slightly awkward parting kiss in the doorway as they prepare to head their separate ways before Stiles remembers his jeep is outside Derek’s house and chases after him down the street.

“You’re not free of me just yet!” he pants as he slips his arm around Derek’s, breathless from running.

“I never said I wanted to be,” Derek grins back at him, slowing his pace so they can walk together.

***

“Your first shift as assistant manager and you gave someone a warning?” Chris asks, his voice betraying a trace of amusement. “I’m trying hard not to be impressed because it’s only for your spunk and not for your actions.”

“He was purposefully being a dick,” Stiles challenges. “He purposefully broke the database, refused to close up, purposefully walked away from the desk when customers approached. Everything was very purposeful!” he finishes lamely seeing Chris’s eyebrow raise in disbelief.

“You’re very lucky,” Chris says finally, “that one of said customers rang up and complained about him this morning, so I know everything you’re saying is undoubtedly the truth. The problem is, you gave Matt a warning and I’ve already issued him with more than one.”

Stiles says nothing, not quite getting what Chris was meaning.

“Realistically, I’ve only got one option but I doubt he’ll make it easy for me,” Chris continues. “You are a bundle of trouble, Stiles, you know that? If you weren’t so damn good at every aspect of running this place, I’d be firing the both of you for causing such a mess.”

“Oh,” Stiles mouths, contemplating. Oh what the hell, he thinks, this can’t get any worse. “While we’re already on the bad news train, I thought I should make you aware that I’m now in a relationship. With Derek. Don’t fire me.”

Now it’s Chris’s turn to say nothing, and Stiles is worried.

“Okay,” he says.

“Is -- is that it?”

“I’m not your father, Stiles. Who you see is none of my business.”

“Not even --”

He stops. Maybe he should find out exactly what Allison told her father about Derek before he shoots his mouth off here, because he could create a whole load of trouble unnecessarily. So he turns back to the original topic of conversation.

“Are you really gonna fire Matt?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” Chris replies. “Although it does leave us short on staff...”

“I’ll sort it,” Stiles spits out before Chris can change his mind, because getting rid of Matt is too good an opportunity to pass up. He was sure Allison would be pleased too, and would definitely be around the place a lot more without him breathing down her neck and trying to get her to do a photoshoot with him.

“You’ve got ‘til the end of the week to find a replacement, or I’ll have to keep him on. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not pleased about that option if he’s causing so much strife, but I don’t have a lot of choice,” Chris says, and Stiles gets it, he does.

So he’s determined he will find someone to replace Matt.

In fact, he already has someone in mind.

## Thursday 23rd June

Since Matt was nowhere to be seen, Stiles’s second day as assistant manager went a hell of a lot smoother than the first which means that he’s easily able to fit in a visit to Scott’s house after work. As he pulls up outside, he spots a familiar vehicle parked in front.

After letting himself in, he loudly announces his arrival just in case Scott and Allison had decided to get up to no good while waiting for him to turn up. A couple of minutes later, his suspicions are confirmed when Scott bounds down the stairs with his shirt on backwards.

“Stiles!” he says. “Wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Clearly,” Stiles deadpans back at him, tapping at his throat to indicate the label sticking out.

“Shit! Gimme a sec dude,” Scott apologises, twisting his shirt round and getting his arms caught up. Eventually Stiles has to physically remove it and right as he pulls it over Scott’s head, Allison calls from the stairs.

“Something you two need to tell me?” she laughs.

“Well, there was that time when we were thirteen,” Stiles begins, but Scott covers his mouth with his hand and turns beetroot. Allison perks one eyebrow incredibly high, her face baffled amusement.

“It was just practice kissing!” Scott exclaims. “It didn’t mean anything!”

“Oh, well now I’m hurt,” Stiles pouts, and Scott glares at him.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. You mean that you think your best friend is so unattractive that kissing him didn’t even give you a semi.” He bats his eyelashes and pretends he has no idea what he’s doing.

Scott gives an exasperated sigh and pointedly looks at Allison until she stops giggling. “Fine. I got a raging erection when I kissed you. Are you happy now?” His tone is one of utmost sarcasm.

“Dude, that’s gross. We’re best friends, I can’t believe you’d look at me like that. I feel _violated_!”

Stiles is pretty sure Scott is going to kill him, but it turns out he got his consonants all mixed up, as instead he leans forward and plants his lips on Stiles’s, who is too shocked to react. He thinks of Derek almost instantly and lights up like the beacon he lives in, and of course Scott and Allison totally misinterpret it.

“Someone never got over their first kiss,” Allison chides jokingly, and Stiles pulls a disgusted face at her.

“Pssh, you can keep him!” he shouts. “And he was totally not my first kiss.”

He was, but there was no need for her to know that.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I did actually come here for a reason, a reason that Scott is already trying to homewreck because he’s worried I’ll be spirited away like the beautiful prince I’m clearly meant to be.”

“What are you on about?” Scott frowns, sitting down on the sofa next to him.

“I mean,” Stiles crows triumphantly, “that I have a boyfriend. A boyfriend that actually, now I think about it, I haven’t heard from since I slept with him. Don’t give me that look!” he exclaims as Scott prepares his speech about safe sex and the rest, “I was a good boy, you don’t need to mother hen me.”

“I do, because I know exactly who you’re going to say it is.”

“And who is that?”

“Derek,” Scott answers, and Stiles gives him a conciliatory nod. “See, I told you…”

“Look I’m here to offer the olive branch on his behalf, if one needs to be extended. I really like this guy,” Stiles says, surprising himself with how truthful that statement is. “He could be really, I don’t know, special, and I don’t want to have to throw it away because everyone hates him.”

“I don’t hate him,” Allison says. “I don’t particularly like him, but I don’t know him. If he’s willing to make the effort, I’ll meet him halfway.”

Resisting the urge to sing the Black Eyed Peas at her, knowing how much she hates them, takes a lot of his mental strength. “Okay,” he agrees. “Scott?”

Scott clearly isn’t happy with the arrangement, but he knows Stiles would totally break things off, and Stiles knows that Scott knows that. So Scott says “okay” as well and that’s that. Obstacle course successfully completed. Except that he hasn’t told his dad yet.

“Just one more thing before I have to go tell my dad and deal with his lectures that are even worse than yours, Scotty,” Stiles says.

“I thought you were staying for dinner. I ordered you a pizza.”

Scott looks crestfallen.

“Not literally one more thing. If there isn’t extra pepperoni I’ll be cross. Furious. Unbearable to be around.”

“What’s new there,” Scott mutters, but can’t keep up the facade and smirks. “Of course I got the pepperoni.”

“I love you. Now, this one more thing. Can you give me Isaac’s number?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. I really don't. I am incapable of writing Scott and Stiles without homoeroticism. It's impossible.
> 
> Thank god Matt's gone, though. What a dick.
> 
> Oh, and there might actually be some more music stuff soon. If I remember.


End file.
